


here comes the rush before we touch

by Emily Waters (missparker)



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: F/F, Past Drug Addiction, Recovery, Summer Camp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-03-30 16:53:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 47,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13955922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missparker/pseuds/Emily%20Waters
Summary: Before them, the tall wooden gates. The sign reads,Camp Meadowlark. Her new home for the next eight weeks.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title from Tegan & Sara's _Closer_.
> 
> hey, did you know i'm on twitter, too? @[missparker8U](https://twitter.com/missparker8U)! it’s locked but i’ll add ya.

_“When I see her,” I said, “it’s like - I don’t know what it’s like. It’s like I never saw anything at all before. It’s like I am filling up, like a wine-glass when it’s filled with wine.”_

**Tipping the Velvet - Sarah Waters**

*

Well, this is a bad idea. 

Were Katya in control of the vehicle, now is exactly the time she’d crank the wheel hard and turn around completely. Flip a bitch, her older brother used to say. Abort mission. Escape. Get the fuck out of Dodge. Bring this sad 1998 Toyota Corolla down the mountain and back into civilization. Instead they keep going up, whizzing around bends and hugging the edge of a cliff that makes Katya’s stomach bottom out just a little. She generally likes the feeling, she’s a thrill seeker, but not when it’s paired with this much anxiety. She feels filled to the brim with anxiety, yet somehow it keeps mounting. How is that even possible?

“If your grip on that door handle breaks my car door, I’m gonna smack you,” Ginger says from the driver’s seat. 

“Maybe slow down then, Evel Kneivel,” Katya says through her gritted teeth. 

“I’ve done this drive a hundred fucking times,” Ginger says, boredly careening down another bend. “No sense dragging it out.” 

Katya closes her eyes, tries to think of something meditative to repeat in her mind, but gives up on that almost instantly, because the car feels even more out of control with her eyes shut. 

It is a pretty view, she has to admit. The tall trees, the mountain peaks in the distance. They’re high enough now that Katya can see the lake down in the valley below. Apparently they’ll hit the summit and then start to descend before they reach the campground. 

“Listen,” Katya says now, feeling desperate. “This wasn’t a good idea. This is a mistake. I really don’t think I’m cut out for this.” 

Ginger laughs. “Little late for that now, cupcake.” 

“Hey, how does it feel to be the least compassionate person I’ve ever met?” Katya asks. 

“I feel fine about that,” Ginger says. She glances over at Katya, just a split second, just long enough to see how Katya has folded herself into the passenger’s seat. “Katya, honey. It’s just a summer. Not even, it’s just 8 weeks. It’ll be good for you. It’s a good place.”

“I don’t know anything about children,” Katya says. 

“It’s a bougie summer camp for girls,” Ginger says. “It’s not Guantanamo Bay. You’re going to be fine.” 

Ginger’s pragmatic tone should reassure her, but it does little to soothe her nerves. They’ve stopped climbing now. She pitches forward in her seat a little. 

“Roll down your window,” Ginger says. “Get some fresh air. It actually is fresh.”

Ginger’s car is an old piece of shit, but it still has power windows. She rolls down Katya’s window just a crack.

“I’m from the city,” Katya says. “I don’t know what to do with clean air.”

“Take a deep breath you dumb bitch, Jesus Christ,” Ginger says. 

It does smell good, she reluctantly admits only to herself. The air is warm and dry but not too hot and it smells like pine trees, like the red dirt that makes up the soil here. It’s not too long before Ginger slows down, makes a left hand turn onto a much narrower unpaved road. It forces Ginger to keep her speed down and the little car bumps along. 

“It’ll be fun,” Ginger says. “Camp is an inherently good place. You get to leave your troubles behind for awhile and the girls - well kids can be assholes - but in general, the girls are good.”

Katya says nothing as Ginger makes one more turn. 

“Plus it fulfills your community service requirement, you doped up addict,” Ginger adds.

Before them, the tall wooden gates. The sign reads, _Camp Meadowlark_. Her new home for the next eight weeks. 

Ginger looks over at her and smiles. “Ready or not, Miss Zamolamadingdong, we’re here.”

oooo

Katya’s known Ginger for almost five years now. Katya had considered Ginger a pretty good friend before but Ginger has risen in the ranks to, easily, her best friend in the last year. It’s amazing how getting arrested and going to rehab will really weed out the fake friends from the real ones. 

Ginger stops the car at the gate, pulls off the little road and they smoke a cigarette before going in. Ginger reassures Katya once more that she’ll be able to smoke here, it just won’t be as easy or as often. Maybe that’s for the best, Katya thinks as she sucks down the smoke. Maybe having regulated smoke breaks will help her cut down. She feels like half of her suitcase is cartons of cigarettes. 

Ginger puts their cigarette butts into the ashtray in her car and they get back in. Driving through the gates feels a little bit ominous and Katya quietly tells herself to calm down, calm it way down, sister.

Ginger had been a camper at this camp growing up, so she’s literally been coming here her whole life. She’d been a junior counselor through her late teens and early twenties and now is on the payroll. She’d told Katya that she makes just enough to afford to come to camp, just slightly more than breaking even if she lives frugally for the summer and doesn’t go into town to spend money. But she’s not here for the money, Katya guesses. 

Katya is here because she has to serve 1000 hours of community service to avoid serving time for possession and intent to sell (which is a bullshit charge because she was going to one hundred percent do all of those drugs herself). Katya is also here because Ginger had arranged it out of the goodness of her heart and helped Katya convince the judge to accept the camp as an alternative to picking up trash on the highway. 

Plus, they don’t have to pay Katya. Still, Katya knows she owes Ginger hugely, that Ginger had put her reputation on the line big time to convince the camp director that Katya wasn’t a liability, that she was safe enough to be around kids, that they’d been wanting to add yoga as a session to the campgrounds for ages and here was a qualified instructor just fallen into their laps. 

“Don’t you dare fuck this up,” Ginger had told her when she’d called to let Katya know that she was in.

She’s not. She’s not going to fuck up. She’s really, really going to try not to fuck it up. 

Boy, but does she hate being sober. Like, she really hates it. 

The campground is old, but they have a lot of money so they’re constantly renovating. The main building is a huge lodge style facility in the heart of the camp and it’s here that Ginger parks. Katya gets out of the car and looks around. Trees and dirt aplenty, but the roads in the camp are paved and this parking lot is covered with asphalt. Fresh air or no, Katya is absurdly grateful that it’s not as rustic as she’d been picturing in her nightmares. She can see little cabins out in the trees, other buildings too. There’s a wooden sign with an arrow pointing toward the lake. 

She and Ginger are a day early. Ginger is not the camp director but she’s the most experienced counselor on the roster so she has de facto become assistant director. Katya wonders if she might want to take this camp over someday and leave her off, off, off broadway life behind. 

“Let’s go find Michelle,” Ginger says. 

The lodge door is locked but Ginger has a key and unlocks it easily enough. Inside looks like a community center. There’s a front desk, a large room with lots of seating, a ping pong table, several empty tables, and big windows that look out onto a deck. And past that? More trees. Katya can see down a hallway that there are more rooms. Ginger had mentioned that they’d made a yoga studio in hopes of finding an instructor. She wonders how big it might be. 

She follows Ginger into the bowels of the building, her jelly sandals slapping against the tile floor. 

The door to the director’s office is open and Ginger takes the hallway at a running start so she can slide into the office with her arms in the air singing, “We’re heeeeere!”

Katya shuffles forward slowly. By the time she reaches the doorway, Ginger is hugging the dark haired woman enthusiastically. When they finally come apart, Ginger flings her arm back behind her without looking and says, “This is my fuck-up friend, Katya.”

“I’m Michelle,” she says, stepping forward. Katya reaches her hand out but Michelle goes in for a hug instead.

“Oh,” Katya says. “This is happening.”

“It sure is,” Michelle says. It’s a real hug, a tight one, and it lasts several seconds longer than Katya is comfortable with. When she finally lets go, she smiles at Katya and says, “Welcome to Camp Meadowlark.” 

“Thank you for having me, seriously, thank you,” Katya says. 

“We’re really happy to add yoga to the program and your credentials checked out,” Michelle says. “The rest is up to you.”

“I’m going to do a good job,” Katya says. 

“She’s not a bad person, she just makes bad choices,” Ginger offers unhelpfully.

Katya shoots her a look.

“Be nice,” Michelle says to her. “Anyway!” she turns back to Katya. “Because it’s your first year, I didn’t assign you a cabin of girls. You may have to occasionally stay overnight with a group if another counselor is off the grounds or something, but we’re gonna ease you in.”

“Bunkhouse?” Ginger asks.

“Yeah,” Michelle says. “And you’re in Hyacinth this year.” 

“Okay,” Ginger says. “I see what you’re doing there. Okay, Visage, okay. I’m onto you.” 

“Just show her where to go, please,” Michelle says. “I asked Latrice to make us a pizza for lunch.” 

“Come on,” Ginger says. Katya follows her back to the car.

“What’s wrong with your cabin?”

“Nothing, the cabins are all basically identical, except for Gardenia - that one has the sink inside the bathroom instead of out so it takes everyone forever to get ready for anything. Hyacinth is just the one closest to the bunkhouse, so it’s where all the troublemakers go. Easier to keep an eye on them there.” 

“Oh, so it’s where you belong then,” Katya says with a huge smile. 

“Ha ha,” Ginger says dryly. “You should be grateful you’re in the bunkhouse.”

“It sounds like prison. Is this all a ruse? Am I actually going to prison?”

“It’s misleading,” Ginger promises. 

The bunkhouse is actually just a long hallway full of single rooms. It can sleep up to twenty people but only has beds for ten. The rooms aren’t that large but there’s a twin bed, a dresser, and a tiny bathroom that Katya can call her own so she’s pleasantly surprised. Until she puts her head into the bathroom and sees only a toilet and a sink.

“No shower?” she asks. 

“There’s a separate shower house just out the back door,” Ginger says. “It has a washer and a dryer too. You’ll be fine.”

She keeps saying that, but Katya isn’t so sure. 

“Do I get first pick of rooms?” Katya asks. 

“The first one on the left is Michelle, but other than that, sure,” Ginger says. 

Katya chooses the one farthest down on the right. It’s closest to Ginger’s cabin, closest to the shower house and the back door and farthest from the one authority figure at this place. They both unload the car and carry their stuff to their different rooms. Katya unpacks a little. Ginger had given her an insider’s list of stuff to bring to make the summer stretch more comfortable and on it was her own bed linens. She’d had to buy a set of twin sheets because she’s not a child, but she’d just brought her own comforter from home and pillows. It had seemed a pain in the ass to shove everything into a big trash bag but now she’s glad to have it and makes up the bed. She’d chosen white sheets with red stars. 

They don’t look quite so patriotic with her black comforter. She likes them. She unpacks her toiletries and cigarettes, stashing them in the bottom drawer of the dresser. Does about half of her clothes before she gets bored and wanders off to find Ginger.

The cabins are not huge and made smaller by being crammed full of bunk beds. Ginger has the only single bed in the place, but there’s room for an additional eight people. Katya is hit by her first wave of relief in some time - she’s glad she’s not going to have to sleep in a room with all those girls every night. 

“Come on,” Ginger says. “Let’s go meet Latrice.”

oooo

Katya loves Latrice immediately. On sight. From the first whiff of her floral perfume to her loud-print caftan to her blue eyeshadow. It all is so right. Latrice is the first person who hugs her in a log time that doesn’t make Katya want to crawl out of her own skin. 

“It’s a huggy place,” Ginger says while she’s still enveloped in Latrice’s big warm hug.

Latrice is the head cook of the campground. She’ll have an assistant, Shangela, and a rotating group of campers to help her every meal, but she’s head of it all. The pizza she’s made them for lunch is amazing. Katya feels another little tendril of worry dissipate. Eating terrible food and being surrounded by mean tween girls in the middle of the barren wilderness had been her big fear for this summer and already she’s batting a thousand. 

She also likes Latrice because Latrice manages to engage her in conversation without asking her any personal questions and that is a real gift. 

Or maybe everyone got an office memo about the new girl being a big gigantic fuck up. 

Still though.

They spend the rest of the afternoon helping unload supplies from the back of Michelle’s pickup truck. She’d gone on a Costco run and gotten snacks and bottles of water and jugs of juice. And many, many, many boxes of tampons and pads. 

“How many girls are coming again?” Katya asks, carrying yet another load of tampons into the lodge.

“It ends up being about 125,” Ginger says. “And those tween girls, honey, they can bleed.”

Katya gets a look at the room they have for her yoga class. They call it the yoga room, the sign on the door says yoga room, but she’s got eyes and can see that it’s a ballet studio. There’s a barre on two of the walls but there’s also a mirrored wall which is good for yoga and so she can’t complain about that. It’s not huge - maybe 15 people, tops. But that’s fine, too. 

Latrice makes cobb salads for dinner and they eat them even though Katya feels like they just had pizza. Three meals a day is gonna feel crazy. Good thing she’s gonna do so much yoga.

And then there’s not much to do until morning. Ginger invites her to stay in the cabin with her for the night so she’s not alone, but she can’t think of anything better than spending a few hours alone. Ginger comes and smokes with her out behind the bunkhouse and then wishes her goodnight. 

She has her phone, but the service blows. She keeps going from one bar to no service.

Maybe that’s for the best. Who is going to call her besides her mother? And not being able to call out? That’s good too. She has no phone, no car, no way out of this camp and off this mountain. And no way to get drugs. 

She really, really misses drugs. 

She unpacks the rest of her clothes and finds something she’d forgotten. A little care package her mother had packed her. Katya had shoved it in her bag on the way out the door because she’d been late, of course. 

It’s wrapped up in blue paper and her mother has drawn little hearts all over it with silver marker.

She tries to unwrap it without ripping the paper but she can’t, story of her life. No one is as good at destroying something beautiful as Katya. 

Inside is a variety of things. A bottle of SPF 80 sunscreen which seems extreme but is a very mom like amount. There’s a three-pack of mint chapstick, far and away the best variety. 

“Fuck you cherry,” Katya says, ripping it open and putting one on the top of the dresser. 

There’s also a chocolate bar, a pack of gum, a new lighter which was kind because her mother _hates_ that she smokes. 

And there’s a book. _Tipping the Velvet_ by Sarah Waters.

So her mother had googled lesbians. It’s good that she cares. She’d been telling people she’s bisexual since high school but it’s only lately she’s come to terms with the fact that she’s not, actually. Her mom is one of the only people she’s confessed that to. 

She runs her fingers over the dark cover of the book. Katya has read it but she’ll read it again, maybe. If she has time. 

She doesn’t think she’ll be able to sleep but it turns out a day of high level anxiety, constant sobriety, and manual labor has tired her out and she passes out before ten.

oooo

She’s woken up at 7:30 in the MORNING by a ringing bell. It’s barbaric. She’d seen the huge bell outside of the lodge when they’d driven up, but she’d thought it was a metaphor for liberty, or something. An artifact from a dark past before electricity. But when she peers out the window, she can see Michelle standing there, pulling on the rope and making the thing go ding fucking dong. 

“Jesus,” she says. “Dear Mr. Christ. Please show me the serenity, blah blah blah…”

She needs a cigarette. 

She goes to breakfast with no makeup and in her pajamas. Men’s boxers and a tank top with a black hoodie thrown on top. She sees Ginger on the walk to the mess hall, already dressed. Already showered. She has mascara on.

“Good morning sunshine,” she says with a grin.

“I hate you and everything you stand for,” Katya mutters. 

“I like your dog underwear,” Ginger says.

Katya looks down. Her boxers are navy blue and have a little pattern of golden corgis on them. 

“Thanks,” she mumbles. “There’s gonna be coffee right, you people believe in coffee here?”

“God, yes,” Ginger says. “We’re cheerful, not satanic.”

“Frankly, I’d pick satanic,” Katya says.

“If you’re real good, I’ll show you where Latrice keeps the flat of red bulls.”

“Mother, I’ll be a good girl,” Katya says in her horror voice. Ginger is used to her, rolls her eyes. 

Breakfast is two cups of black coffee and a bowl of oatmeal. Katya plans to eat it plain but Latrice says, “Don’t worry baby, I’ll fix it up for ya,” and when the bowl is set in front of her it’s a tasty melody of blueberries, brown sugar, and hunks of bananas drizzled in maple syrup. It seems like it would be too much but it isn’t. It’s amazing and filling and Katya’s urge to kill both herself and others fades significantly. 

The rest of the staff is supposed to start arriving around eleven. Ginger seems to know all of them except for one other new girl. 

It _is_ a bougie camp. They have a lifeguard on duty, two nurses, someone devoted completely to art, another to music. Plus all of the counselors with cabins. Apparently there are ten cabins. The summer is broken into two sessions of four weeks each. Some girls will come for the first four weeks, some for the second four weeks, and there’s about thirty girls who make the whole stretch. Half of those girls are just wealthy enough to pay for it. The other fifteen girls are on scholarships.

“Oh good, poor kids,” Katya jokes under her breath to Ginger. “I’ll have someone to talk to.” 

Ginger has to make a welcome sign for her cabin, so Katya spends the morning assisting her. Which means, Ginger explains what she wants and Katya executes it. It’s not her style, but it’s still kind of soothing to sit on the floor and create something, anything at all. The smell of the paint brings her right back to grade school. It’s crap paint, it will crack and chip off even basic paper, and the brushes they’d found in the arts and crafts room are old and scraggly, but she still likes it. It’s art and that has always been a safe space for her. 

“Those actually look like hyacinths,” Ginger says. “Girl, work!”

“Flowers are not so hard,” Katya says, putting on her Russian accent. When they’d checked her into rehab, she’d spent the first three weeks fully in the accent. Partly to screw with everyone, partly because it made her feel better, like it was a thing happening to someone else. Her mom has the slightest hint of an accent after so long in the states, but her grandmother’s accent had remained thick for her entire life. When she’d gotten out of rehab, her roommate had still been halfway convinced that the american accent was the fake one. 

She writes out _Hyacinth_ in swirly lettering. Ginger already has the list of names of the girls that will be in her cabin, so Katya switches to marker and writes them all in. Madison, McKinley, Brooklyn, Bella C., Bella M., Jacqueline, Kaitlyn, and Sophia. 

“I had both Bellas last year, too,” Ginger says. “Best frienemies.” 

“Best of luck to you, girlfriend,” Katya says, standing up and looking at her handiwork. “With your army of future stepford wives.” 

“They can’t help being rich and white, Katya,” Ginger says in a fake valley girl voice and it makes Katya laugh, anyway. 

Katya leaves Ginger to go to the bathroom, wash the paint off her hands, and have a cigarette. She’s wandering around the perimeter of the bunkhouse with her cigarette hanging out of her mouth when she realizes she can hear the gravel at the front of the building crunching. She looks at her wrist watch and realizes it’s late enough that other people should be arriving by now. She steps off the path to the soft layer of brown pine needles and walks more carefully until she can peer around the corner. 

But whoever was there is gone now, leaving only a pile of belongings in their place. A suitcase, the hardshell kind in baby pink, a canvas bag - floral tapestry with the monogram TM and a black guitar case. 

But Katya is no Nancy Drew, if anything she’s a coward who is scared of her own shadow. So she turns on her black boots and marches right back the way she came. She stubs out her cigarette on a rock and drops the butt into an empty coke can she’s left on the back step. Then she goes to her room, stretches out on her little bed, and waits. 

Within an hour, she can hear a flurry of activity and voices on the other side of her closed wooden door. She can make out at least four voices, people who have clearly known each other for many years if the joy and excitement in their voices is anything to go by. She listens to the reunions, the sound of luggage being drug down the carpeted hallway, drawers opening and closing, the laughter and conversation. 

She can tell right away when Ginger arrives to the bunkhouse because Ginger is loud. 

Katya knows her time is up.

“What?” she can hear Ginger say. “No, she’s probably in her room.”

And then her heavy stomps down the hall. Ginger gives her one courtesy knock before throwing open the door. 

“Are you hiding in here?”

Ginger’s words are accusatory, but she doesn’t really look mad. 

“Yes,” Katya says because she’s been trying to lie way less. Drug addicts have to lie, that’s just the nature of being a drug addict. She can’t count how many times her family members had asked her if she’d been high when she was certainly, one hundred percent high and she’d said no. Now, lying for no good reason seems like a waste.

“Oh,” Ginger says, thrown by the honestly. “Well cut it out.” 

Katya swings her feet to the floor, gets up. “Okay,” she says.

Ginger sticks her head out of the door and yells, “Everyone come meet Katya!”

She’s introduced to the camp nurses, Raja and Raven, and a couple returning counselors, Dela and Shea. Ginger explains that people will trickle in all day. Some live close enough to drive, some are getting in on an afternoon flight.

“People fly here to do this camp?” Katya asks.

“Girl, once you go Meadowlark, you never get it out of your system,” says Shea. “I bet you we see you here next summer, too.” 

The only person who knows about her community service needs are Ginger and Michelle and she plans to keep it that way. 

“You never know,” she says mysteriously. 

“Wait, where’s the new girl?” asks Dela looking over her shoulder.

“I’m the new girl,” Katya says. “I demand new girl status.”

“You’ll have to share, honey,” says Raven. “She was quite a sight.”

“NEW GIRL,” Ginger bellows. “SHOW YOURSELF.”

After just a second, the closed door across from Katya’s flies open. Everyone except for Katya jumps.

The person who comes out is tall, has baby pink hair and more eyeliner than even Katya wears, and is easily the most beautiful thing Katya has ever laid eyes on, ever, ever, ever. She’s so beautiful that Katya’s palms start to sweat and she clenches her teeth. She’s so beautiful that Katya itches for a cigarette, a cocktail, and a hit of speed all at once. She balls her hands into fists.

“Um, fully fuck all of you, I am a _lady_ ,” she says.

 _Oh Jesus,_ Katya thinks. _Oh Jesus, oh Jesus, oh Jesus._ Never in her life has she ever immediately wanted to fuck somebody like this. She’s wet already, it’s instantaneous, what the fuck?

The new lady smiles smugly at all of their semi shocked expressions and then breaks into a peal of screaming laughter.

“Kidding! I’m Trixie,” she says. 

It’s Raja who laughs first and then they all relax and start talking to her at once, everyone except Katya who backs slowly into her little bathroom and silently shuts the door while everyone’s back is turned. 

She grabs the cold porcelain of the sink and stares at herself in the mirror - her eyes blown wide, her pink cheeks. 

“You dumb fucking lesbian,” she whispers to her reflection. 

Her reflection seems to think she’s stupid, too.


	2. Chapter 2

_“All unwillingly I opened my eyes - then I opened them wider, and lifted my head. The heat, my weariness, were quite forgotten. Piercing the shadows of the naked stage was a single shaft of rosy limelight, and in the centre of this there was a girl: the most marvellous girl - I knew it at once! - that I had ever seen.”_

**Tipping the Velvet - Sarah Waters**

*

By morning, the entire staff has arrived. Katya marvels at the group of women, at their willingness to give up an entire summer for hardly any pay. To be so enthusiastic and genuine about the weeks that lie ahead. There’s something beautiful about their commitment and Katya feels once more reassured that this summer will be survivable. That all of her bad choices have somehow led her to the right place.

Today’s breakfast is much louder than yesterday, so she can only imagine what the large dining room will sound like filled with girls ages 10-16, plus ten additional junior counselors who will arrive along side the campers. Those girls are 18-22 and are on hand as extra help to heard and facilitate. 

“They get college credit,” Ginger tells Katya. “It’s like a summer internship.”

After breakfast they all move to the lodge. There’s a day of teambuilding ahead of them. 

“By the time the campers arrive, you will all know each other and know each other well,” Michelle promises. 

The first thing they do is spend half an hour making their camp name tags. Katya doesn’t know how it could take thirty whole minutes to write her name, but it turns out elaborate name tags are a camp tradition. They’re given little squares of wood with two holes drilled into them and a length of twine to make the lanyard. Michelle has supplied them with markers, glue, and a random assortment of objects and craft supplies. She looks over what’s there and then decides to creep down the hall where the arts and crafts closet is.

They call it a closet but it’s a room, it’s roughly the same size as her yoga studio, but the walls are covered with shelves and the shelves are stuffed full of craft supplies. Paint and markers, crayons, colored pencils, bags of felt and feathers and pom poms. Katya looks around for awhile and then finds something worthwhile.

It’s a wood burning pen. She pulls it out, checks it over and everything seems to be there. She can’t see a plug in the room so she carries her treasure with her and moves into the next open doorway which is the music room. There’s a plug by the door so she plugs the pen in and waits.

It gets hot. 

She spends about fifteen minutes carefully burning her name into the name tag in a spiky font and then makes a little border around the edge. Satisfied, she unplugs the pen and puts it away, careful to leave it in a safe spot to cool down. When she returns to the group, everyone is still working. It seems like most people are just trying to glue as much as possible onto their name tags. 

Katya adds some detailing with a red sharpie and then finds a tiny plastic hand among the random objects. It’s so small and weird that it makes her laugh, so she glues that onto her name tag. 

Ginger looks at it and shakes her head. “That’s impressive, you kooky psychopath.” Ginger’s is mostly just covered in glitter. 

“I’m gonna smoke,” Katya says. She steps out onto the deck. When the door closes behind her, the noise fades into mostly quiet. She can hear birds in the trees, the gentle breeze. She fishes out a cigarette and lights it, leans against the railing and looks out at the horizon.

Ginger had mentioned there was a lake - not the massive one she’d seen from the top of the mountain, but a smaller one at the edge of the property. Swimming was almost always an afternoon workshop activity for those who wanted to, weather permitting. Apparently there were canoes too, though Ginger had said they’d lost popularity in recent years. A bathing suit had been on her list of things to bring. Katya isn’t much of a swimmer but she likes the idea of looking out at the water or maybe putting her bare feet into it. 

The door opens and the noise swells again. Katya turns around to look at who has come out. 

And thank god for the name tags because now Katya doesn’t have to pretend she remembers anyone’s name. It’s one of the younger counselors. She has long hair bleached at the ends but growing out dark. She has a ring in her nose and the same chunky soled black boots that Katya favors when she’s not wearing a running shoe or a sandal. 

Her name tag says Adore. 

“I will give you my first born for a smoke,” she says. 

“I will give you a smoke only if you promise never to give me a baby,” Katya says, pulling the pack out of her pocket. She opens the carton and extends it to Adore who takes one. She has her own lighter, apparently, because she pulls it out of her pocket and lights up.

“I was going to quit,” Adore says. “I didn’t even bring… okay, I brought one emergency pack but like, this is gonna be my smoke free summer.”

“How’s that going?” Katya asks with a smile. 

“Well some blonde newbie is leading me into temptation!” Adore says. 

“I have many flaws,” Katya says. 

“Hey, I like your name tag,” Adore says. She squints at it. “No cabin?”

“I’m here to teach the youth of america summer yoga,” Katya says. 

“I’m in poppy,” Adore says. 

“How many years of Meadowlark can you boast of?” Katya asks. 

“This is my third year,” Adore says. “Non-consecutive.” She blows smoke out and sighs. 

“Cool,” Katya says. 

“You’re Ginger’s friend, right?” Adore says. Katya nods. “Usually people start coming here because they’re a friend of a friend. Like, I came a first year as a camper because Bianca was a counselor,” she says.

“Bianca is…”

“She’s doing arts and crafts this year,” Adore scans the window and then points. “The one in the floral dress?”

“Ah,” Katya says. 

“There’s another new girl,” Adore says. “She doesn’t seem to know anyone. What’s her deal?”

Katya shakes her head. 

“I think her name was Tracy,” Adore says, biting at her cuticle. 

“Trixie,” Katya says softly. “She’s in the room next to mine.” And she’s tall and beautiful and funny, Katya doesn’t add. 

“Anyway,” Adore says. “Michelle is great, so I don’t think she’d hire an axe murderer.”

“I mean, what are the odds she’d hire two?” Katya says. Adore whips her head around to look at Katya with surprise. 

Katya laughs, wheezing because of the cigarette. 

The door opens again and Ginger sticks her head out. “Truants always find truants, don’t they?” 

“Calm down, grandma,” Adore says. She puts the cigarette out and then picks up the butt so Katya does the same to hers. Adore puts her hand out and says, “Gimme, I’ll go flush them.”

“Thanks,” Katya says. 

Inside, Michelle has everyone sit in a big circle on the floor. They go through formal introductions, holding up their name tag so everyone can coo over it appropriately. They also say the name of their cabin if they have one, what they’re doing here if they don’t, and how many years they’ve spent at Meadowlark. 

Katya goes early, holding up her name tag. “My name is Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova,” she says leaning heavily on her russian accent, but then drops it to say, “But you can call me Katya. I’m here for yoga.”

There’s a murmur amongst the crowd, someone says, “Finally!” Who knew this camp had been so hard up for yoga? She doesn’t generally think of yoga as a rich person’s activity because she does a lot of it and she’s poor. She also teaches at a studio where they don’t hardly charge enough to keep the lights on. But now she has to wonder. It’s probably like anything - the nicer the area, the more it costs. 

Katya tries to pay attention to everyone as they introduce themselves but she finds herself mostly looking at the other new person - Trixie. Her pink hair is up in a high ponytail today and her hairline is wrapped with a white scarf. She’s the only one not sitting with her legs crossed because she’s wearing a denim mini skirt. Instead she has her long legs out in front of her. She has on pink cowboy boots and a shirt that is an Emmylou Harris concert tee. 

Her skin is magically soft looking and clear. Like, is she glowing just a little? She’s got these little curly tendrils of hair coming down in front of her ears - Katya wants to wrap them around her fingers and lightly tug Trixie’s mouth against her own.

She squirms on the wooden floor. 

Something makes the group break into laughter, but she’s missed it. Whoever is talking - she squints at the nametag which says _Kasha D._ \- had cracked a joke. She’s an older counselor, not OLD but probably well into her forties. 

Katya just turned 33, actually. Nothing like spending your birthday detoxing to make it a blurry but somehow still very memorable one. Forty had seemed so old once, but it doesn’t anymore. Katya tries to picture herself at Kasha’s age. There was a time in her life she couldn’t see past the next 24-hours. At rehab they’d called it a time horizon. That people in distress had a much shorter time horizon than sober, functional people. Someone with a place to live and a car and a job could plan six months out, could have a five year plan because it was a reasonable assumption that they’d still be around in five years. Someone who was addicted to meth and homeless, well, their concerns tended to be more minute to minute. 

And that’s true, Katya has found. She’s gone from knowing she wouldn’t be around by forty to now having to think about having plans and goals. Her longest term goal is to stay sober. She’d like to be financially independent and not in trouble with the law, also. And now, she wants very much to know-

“Hi, I’m Trixie Mattel!” 

Katya doesn’t have to look up at her because she’s been staring dumbly at her since they sat down in this stupid circle. 

Trixie holds up her nametag. Her name is written in big pink letters and has a heart over each ‘i’. She’s glued pink flowers onto her twine so it looks more like a lei. There’s more on the name tag but it’s too far away for Katya to make out. 

“I know, I’m new,” she says. “I’m from Wisconsin, originally, but now I live in Los Angeles. Well, my storage unit lives in Los Angeles,” she says. “I’m here as the music counselor which is really exciting.” She smiles and Katya feels it in her teeth. Her smile has straight up punched Katya in the mouth with its beauty. “It may be my first year at Camp Meadowlark, but I’ve either been a camper or worked at a camp every summer since I was eight.”

Ginger leans over and whispers, “A lifer.” 

Katya thinks it’s a bit the pot calling the kettle black but says nothing. 

After they make it around the circle, Michelle passes out a variety of personality quizzes for them to fill out. Apparently knowing more about yourselves helps you interact with other people better or something, she drifted off during the explanation thinking about the damp hair at the back of Trixie’s neck and what it might taste like if Katya had licked that soft skin right below her hairline. 

But Katya likes nothing more than thinking about herself, so the quizzes do hold her interest. She finds out she’s an ENFP, and the profile tells her she’s an idea person who sees everything as a cosmic whole. That she wants to be liked and admired by everyone. That she tends to be unconventional with a zany charm and that she’s easily distracted and can have her relationships suffer due to her short attention span and emotional needs.

“Well this is scarily accurate,” says a voice beside her.

“No fucking kidding, right?” she says. 

Katya looks up and realizes that voice was Trixie. That Trixie had slipped into the vacant chair beside her while she was wrapped up in her self. She freezes. Trixie smells like something amazing. Like a bakery, like icing melting over something fresh out of the oven. Up close Katya can see her lip gloss has glitter in it, tiny sparkles that make her mouth look all the more inviting. 

“What did you get?” Trixie demands.

“Um… ENFP - I think it means I’m an unpredictable narcissist with a penchant for the dramatic,” Katya says.

“I got ISTP, I always get ISTP,” she says. “It’s like, hermit who likes to perform. Whatever.” 

Katya glances at Trixie’s paper, but she’s got it turned over. 

“Hey,” Trixie says now. Katya snaps her gaze back up to Trixie’s eyes. “I work a lot of camps, so I’m almost always the new girl.”

Katya nods, doesn’t trust herself to say anything.

“You’re new, too,” Trixie says. She leans in, lowers her voice. “I think we should form an alliance. Climb our way to the top and leave these bitches behind.” 

“Plant a flag in a pile of corpses?” Katya says, softly, smiling. She’s looking at Trixie’s mouth again, so she can see Trixie’s mouth open right before she screams out a high pitched laughter.

“Bitch, yes,” she says, reaching out to smack her hand against Katya’s arm. Trixie’s fingernails are the palest pink, almost white. She sighs. “I just did a two week camp in Idaho that was kind of exhausting.”

“Really?” Katya asks. “Back to back camp?”

“I’m doing the eight weeks here and then two more weeks. I won’t be back to LA until after Labor day,” she says.

“Jesus,” Katya says. 

“I don’t usually do eight weeks in one place, but this camp has a super reputation and I’ve heard such good things about Michelle, when the opportunity came up, I couldn’t let it pass,” Trixie says. 

“And here I thought Ginger was the most hardcore camp lover,” Katya says. 

“I don’t know, I just always loved camp,” Trixie says, resting her elbow on the table and her chin on her hand. “I double majored in Recreational Management and Public Administration, so it’s my dream to run my own camp someday.” 

“You’re camp shopping,” Katya says. 

Trixie smiles, leans forward to touch the blunt ends of Katya’s hair. She’d had it long for awhile, but when she got out of rehab, she’d let one of her mother’s friends cut it off in their garage. Now she has bangs and a choppy bob, but she likes it, actually. It’s just another way Katya is a new woman.

“Is this your natural color?” Trixie asks. 

“Is that yours?” Katya shoots back.

She laughs again, loudly. “Yep.”

“Well then, me too!” Katya says. She can feel herself sweating. It always breaks out on her top lip first and she licks her lips. Salty. 

Michelle calls out that they have two more minutes before they move on.

“Quick, tell me something else about you so I don’t feel like we talked about me this whole time,” Trixie demands. The way she’s sitting, Katya can just barely almost see up her little denim skirt. 

“I’m so, so gay,” she thinks. Wait. Did she think that? Wait, did she SAY that? Shit, _wait_.

Trixie looks surprised, her long lashes flapping and her little perfect glittery mouth rounding into a little circle. 

Then she slaps Katya’s knee and scream laughs again. 

oooo

Katya is smoking in the shower house. The farthest shower back has a window that opens. She’s standing fully clothed in the tiny cubicle, blowing smoke out of the window. 

It’s here that Ginger finds her, yanking the shower curtain back.

“What?” Katya says.

“What are you doing?” Ginger demands. 

“Smoking,” Katya says. “Counting regrets. How did you find me?”

“I just thought of the weirdest fucking place I could and poof, there you were,” Ginger says. 

Katya can think of weirder places. She imagines herself on the roof of a cabin, inside the refrigerator in the mess hall, perched on top of the bell in the early morning light. 

“I saw the smoke out the window,” Ginger says. “What’s wrong?”

“I just… I don’t what I’m doing, I don’t have a sponsor here, I don’t have anyone to talk to,” she says. “It’s been like two days, how am I going to do this whole summer?”

“You do know yoga and that’s what you’re here to do,” Ginger says. “You can talk to me, you can talk to Michelle. I saw you talking to Princess Bubblegum earlier and she was cracking up, so I think you’re doing great, actually.”

“No, no, she’s so pretty,” Katya says, rubbing her face. She still hasn’t put on any makeup. Her lips feel dry and bare. “Ginger, she’s so… fuck, I wish she wasn’t here.”

“Ah, I see,” Ginger says. 

“Plus she has like a hundred and twenty five years of camp counseling experience so she’s gonna know I’m a loser and a fraud,” Katya says, flicking the end of the cigarette and dropping ash onto the shower floor. “Addicts don’t get fucked by bubblegum princesses.”

“Newsflash, this summer isn’t about you getting fucked,” Ginger says. “It’s about these girls feeling safe and loved.” 

“Yes,” Katya says. “Yes. Yes, I know this.” 

“Just ignore her, or something,” Ginger says. “Come on, we’re late for lunch.”

“People eat way too much here,” Katya complains.

“I’ll get you a red bull,” Ginger says.

Katya stubs out her cigarette. “Okay let’s go.”

oooo

By the time Katya gets back to the bunkhouse, she’s exhausted. They’ve literally spent the whole day either doing ice breaking games or preparing for the campers. Now it’s pitch black outside and a little cold and Katya just wants to fall into bed. Her body feels stiff and sore because she hasn’t been doing her regular yoga routines. 

Which means she should get up early so she can stretch before she showers. Reluctantly, she pulls her phone out of the dresser drawer and plugs it in. After a few moments it springs to life only to tell her she has no service. 

She sets an alarm for six am, is surprised to see it’s only nine o’clock. 

She brushes her teeth, changes into some cotton shorts and takes her bra off from under her t-shirt. 

But she knows she should smoke one more time, so she pulls her hoodie back on and opens her bedroom door. 

It’s a testament to how tired everyone is because the bunkhouse is practically full but it’s not very loud. 

Still every door is open except for Trixie’s. Katya can deal with a lot, but not an open door policy no siree, she could not. Even if it meant gazing directly into Trixie’s bedroom. Especially that.

She ruminates on what a girl like Trixie Mattel might wear to sleep in as she tries to slip out of the back door as quietly as possible. Tiny shorts and a tank top? A nightgown? Something short and sheer, maybe. She’s all leg, Katya muses, lighting a cigarette and stuffing the lighter into the pocket of her sweatshirt. 

It’s so dark that the only light is behind her, the dim glow of the low watt bulbs in the bunkhouse. In front of her, only the orange tip of her cigarette. She can’t even see Ginger’s cabin, can barely make out the shape of the shower house. 

The air is cold on her legs and she dances around a little to warm up. When she has smoked most of the cigarette, she makes her way back to the concrete steps of the bunkhouse and stubs it out. She’ll flush it down the toilet in her room. 

When she opens the screen door, though, she’s startled to find everyone standing in the doorways of their rooms, which includes Trixie who is holding an acoustic guitar, the strap holding it to her body a buttery looking leather. 

“Here she is,” Michelle says from the far end of the hall. “It’s time for our goodnight song.”

“Our what now?” Katya asks, shrinking under everyone’s gaze.

“We do staff lullabies here at Meadowlark,” says Shangela, from three rooms down. “The cabins do lullabies too, so we decided one year, hey!”

“Hey?” Katya says. She glances at Trixie.

“Hey,” Trixie says. “Hey man. Hey.” She looks like she’s trying not to smile. 

“Miss Mattel volunteered to lead them for us,” Michelle says. “Being our music counselor and all.”

“And all,” Trixie says. “Okay, here we go.”

She starts plucking out a simple melody and then sings, “ _Rising, rising, is the moon. Large and round, large and round, oh round moon, plate-like round moon will rise soon_.” 

Katya recognizes the melody, it’s a old japanese lullaby. Trixie does a couple more simple verses. Her voice is lovely, simple and strong. She can hold the melody but is not showy. It makes a warm feeling spread out through all of Katya’s limbs. She could curl up in the sound of Trixie singing forever. 

When Trixie stops playing, she and Katya both look down the hall and see all the softly smiling faces. They liked it too.

“Goodnight ladies,” Michelle says. “I love you.”

A chorus of ‘love yous’ follow Katya to bed.

oooo

Her phone alarm wakes her at six and for a brief second, she kinda misses the bell because the bell comes with another hour of unconsciousness. Still, she gets up, splashes some water on her face and then pulls as much of her hair back as she can. It’s still pretty short for a full ponytail but she can at least secure the top half into a messy little bun on the crown of her head. 

She doesn’t bother to change into exercise clothes, her pajamas are soft enough. She grabs her rolled up yoga mat from the corner of the room and takes it out the back door with her. If she walks past the bunkhouse and the shower house, there’s a little square of concrete before the edge of the actual forest. It looks like it use to be the foundation for something - a structure maybe or some large and heavy object, but now it’s just a slab. She unfurls her mat and steps onto it.

Her body is sore, it resists the stretches but after awhile, she loosens up and can work herself through a series of poses. 

It’s tempting to really go for it, to get good and sweaty and tired but she knows she has to teach two yoga classes a day for most of the summer, so it won’t do anyone any good to start out exhausted. So she stops when she breaks out in a light sweat and then rolls up her mat and heads back to the bunkhouse. 

She’s still several yards away when she realizes someone is sitting on the back steps and the mess of pink curls tells Katya it can only be one person. 

Trixie gives her a little wave. In her other hand is a white mug with the pink Barbie logo on it. 

“Oh hi,” she says. “I didn’t know you were an athletic goddess.”

“Uh,” Katya says, feeling weird knowing that Trixie had been watching her. “I’m not really.”

“You did the splits while on your head,” Trixie says. “You’re practically circus people.”

“Now that’s true,” Katya says and laughs. Trixie is blocking her way back in the building so she tries to think of something else to say and lands on, “Is that coffee?”

“Yeah,” Trixie says. “Camp coffee is notoriously bad, so I always bring my own maker just in case.”

“That’s so smart,” Katya says. 

“You want some? I have a whole pot,” Trixie says. Now she stands. She’s got on what must be the thinnest cotton pajama bottoms in the world because Katya can see the darker shadow of her underwear underneath as she stares at Trixie’s ass. 

“Sure,” Katya says. 

Trixie’s room is the mirror image of Katya’s but already looks like it’s another planet. Trixie’s managed to make it look like she’s always lived here. She’s got on sheets with a floral print and a pink comforter. There’s pictures hung on the walls, mostly polaroids of Trixie and kids of various ages - other campers Katya figures. There’s even fairy lights strung all over the room and a throw rug in the middle of the floor, covering the sad, dirty brown carpet. 

And on top of the dresser, the little coffee pot and another mug, this one also white but says ‘World’s Okayest Drunk Dancer’. Katya points and laughs, wheezes, “What is that?”

“A gift,” Trixie says. “Jokes on her, because I am also the world’s okayest sober dancer.”

She fills the mug and hands it to Katya. 

“I’ll take good care of it,” Katya promises. They’re speaking softly because most of the other doors are still closed. She can see that all the way at the other end, Michelle’s is open. 

“I trust you, Katya,” Trixie says, and throws a little wink over her shoulder. 

“Спасибо,” Katya says. 

Katya takes the mug with her to the shower house and finds she can set it right on the little shelf in the tiny shower meant for soap and it stays safe above the spray. It’s not the easiest shower she’s ever taken - it’s hard to shave under her arms, nearly impossible to shave her legs. She manages up to her knees because she’s got good balance, but then gives up on the rest, figuring it comes in blonde anyway. She can always shave in the sink of her little bathroom if she starts to feel too furry. 

But she washes her hair which sorely needs it and her face and suds up her body and feels all the more human for it. 

She tries not to think about drugs. She tells herself how much worse this experience would be if she were high. How it would blur things, how she would forget the fresh smell of the trees, the color of the sky as it shifts from dawn to day, her happy sore muscles. 

She presses her forehead against the wall of the shower and thinks about how she wouldn’t care about missing anything if she were high because she’d be high and high was happy and she really misses being happy, even if it was fake. Isn’t fake happiness better than real sadness?

Her therapist in rehab says no. So does her parole officer. And her mother.

Jury is still out for Katya. 

She takes one more gulp of coffee and then pours the dregs down the shower drain and rinses the mug in the spray before shutting the shower off.

Ginger had told her to bring a robe, something she’d never bothered with in her every day life, but it’s nice not to have to get dressed in a steamy shower house, her clothes dragging across wet skin. 

By the time the bell rings for the second time - to indicate it’s time to head to breakfast - she’s got on makeup and feels herself. Red lips and dark eyes. She washes out the mug with hand soap and pats it dry with her own towel. When she opens her door, Trixie’s door is open too and she’s already gone, so Katya carefully sets it on the dresser next to the Barbie mug. 

She feels more and more herself all the way until the campers start arriving and then she gets overwhelmed. The selfness she’d been proud of all morning recedes and it goes quick. Suddenly there are people everywhere. Girls and parents and counselors and cars and a few family dogs. Michelle doesn’t assign Katya a role. She doesn’t sit at the check-in table, she doesn’t have a cabin, she doesn’t have to direct girls or help push wheelbarrows full of luggage around. Michelle had told her to be a floater, which means she's nothing. Which means even though she’s been allowed into this world, she’s not a part of it. She’s an other, an aberration, not to be trusted.

And why should anyone trust her? She doesn’t even trust herself.

So she slinks away to her yoga room, closes the door behind her. She doesn’t have her mat or her phone to play music, she isn’t even wearing the right thing. She has on cut off denim shorts, a white tank top and a loose flannel shirt over that because the walk to breakfast had been chilled, even though now it’s hot and dry. 

She balls up her flannel and puts it under her head, lies down on the hard floor to have herself a little pity party. Maybe a cry.

But it’s hard to cry. She can feel it hard and heavy in her chest, but the tears don’t come so she just lies there and hates herself as hard as she can. 

After awhile she hears something floating through the thin walls. 

Guitar music. 

It must be Trixie, Katya thinks, a little flutter in her chest. The music room is one room over. 

And then Trixie starts singing. Not loud enough that Katya can make out the words, but loud enough that Katya can recognize that it’s Trixie. And the singing helps to calm her down, it helps her to start thinking about something other than herself and her own pain. 

Her selfness starts to come back a little. 

She sits up, scoots closer to the shared wall. Presses her ear against it, listens hard. 

It’s hard to ask for help, but she can let Trixie help her now, without having to ask, so she does.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a playlist that goes along with this fic: [camp meadowlark for girls](https://open.spotify.com/user/missparker8u/playlist/1QSR0TAmsszjaovjtIhUiz)
> 
> it will grow and change as the story progresses but i try to include the songs mentioned here, or the versions closest to what trixie would play. the fic is katya's pov, but the playlist definitely belongs to trixie.

_“I have been being careful since the first minute I saw you. I am the Queen of Carefulness. I shall go on being careful for ever, if you like - so long as I might be a bit reckless, sometimes, when we are quite alone”_

**Tipping the Velvet - Sarah Waters**

*

Their first meal together as a camp is dinner, and instead of assigning a cabin KP duty, the bunkhouse takes it. Katya helps set the tables with plates and silverware, clear plastic cups for water or juice. It smells good in the mess hall and through the window she can see campers have already started to line up. She can see Sharon and Tatianna talking to each other, sitting on the railing and then, at the end of the crowd, Alaska dancing with a few campers. 

Raja walks around and puts pitchers of ice water onto every table. 

By the time they’re finished setting up, the crowd outside has grown significantly and at the doors, Dela and Adore are pressing their faces into the glass, looking in. 

Adore catches Katya’s eyes and points to her stomach.

“We’re dying!” she yells, understandable but muted through the glass and the noise outside. 

“I highly doubt that,” Michelle says to Katya. She pats Katya’s shoulder and then turns to the bunkhouse crew which is Raja and Raven, Courtney who has only just arrived and is apparently going to be their lifeguard which makes sense because she’s tan and blonde and quite lovely. She’s standing next to Bianca, and then, of course, Trixie. “Okay, are we ready to let the ravenous crowds in?”

“Let’s do it,” Bianca says. 

“We have to choose a grace song,” Raven says, sounding a little bored. 

“Trixie, you can lead us in something, right?” Michelle says. 

“Does being the music counselor mean I default lead every song?” Trixie asks.

“Yes,” everyone says. 

She shrugs. “Okay.” 

For this first dinner, everyone is sitting in cabin groups, so Katya doesn’t have to worry about where she’ll end up when the crowds come pouring in - a laughing, screaming stampede. 

Katya presses herself against the wall next to Trixie who looks over at her and gives her a wink. She looks like she’s in her element and Katya feels a stab of jealousy. All she ever is, is anxious. She wants to be calm and cool like Trixie, she wants to be tall and beautiful and talented, too. 

Once most people are in their seats, Trixie pulls out the chair at the head of the bunkhouse table and stands up on it. Today she has on the shortest denim overalls skirt that Katya has ever seen, but she has lavender leggings on under it that go to her knees so there’s no peering up her skirt today. 

Trixie sticks two fingers in her mouth and lets out an ear piercing whistle. Everyone quiets down immediately. She claps her hands and says, “Campers! Welcome, welcome, welcome to Camp Crystal Lake!”

There’s a moment of quiet and then a few girls shriek. Someone says, “Oh _hell_ no!”

Trixie lets out her loud peal of laughter and waves her hand. “Kidding, totally kidding. Camp Meadowlark! Okay, you guys ready for your grace song?”

The crowd rumbles the affirmative. 

“Do you guys know knife, fork, spoon to the tune of If You’re Happy and You Know It?” she asks. There are enough people who shout yes that she seems satisfied and starts singing. 

“ _I'm a knife, fork, spoon, spatula!_ ” she sings.

About half the room shouts, “Cha cha cha!”

“ _I'm a knife, fork, spoon, spatula!_ ”

“Cha cha cha!” Katya joins in this time, and so do more campers. 

“ _I'm a knife, fork, spoon_  
_I'm a knife, fork, spoon_  
_I'm a knife, fork, spoon, spatula!_ ” Trixie finishes with her hands around her mouth to make herself louder. 

Everyone positively roars the final “Cha cha cha!” and then everyone claps. 

“Great job guys! That was perfect! Okay, Director Michelle is going to release your tables but she did tell me that she drew cabins and Magnolia is first this year, so go on guys!”

Over at the Magnolia table, Sharon pumps her fist and the kids all stand up and head for the food line. 

Trixie climbs off her chair, smoothing her short skirt back into place and smiles at Katya. 

“Easy peasy,” she says and flops into her seat. Katya slips into the seat next to her because she has no self-control. She’ll spend the meal counting how many times their knees bump under the table and relive each moment of contact all night long. 

In the chair on her otherside, Bianca sits down. Since they have KP, they’ll be the last to actually get their food, so they have time to kill.

“So, pretty woman, what’s your story?” Bianca asks. 

“Ummm,” Katya says. “I came with Ginger.”

“Your whole life story is that you know Ginger?” Bianca asks. 

“I also dabble in yoga,” Katya says playing coy, looking up through her lashes. 

“So you’re from Florida’s ass crack too?” Bianca asks.

“Oh god, no, I’m from Boston,” Katya says. “Ginger and I went to school together.” 

“What was your major, Russian model?” Bianca asks.

“N-no,” Katya says. “Art. I’m not really… I’m just like a normal looking person.”

“No,” Trixie says. “Your smile is goals. Has no one ever told you that before?”

“I just… I guess,” Katya says.

“Do you know what my dentist said at my first visit?” Trixie says. “She said, so, what part of the rural midwest are you from?”

Bianca laughs, and Katya, too, because Trixie’s good with a punchline delivery. And she laughs because she’s relieved Trixie has put the conversational focus back onto herself. 

“Bitch, learn to accept a compliment,” Bianca says to Katya now. “We’re a hateful but loving group.” 

“Stop, I’m delicate,” Katya says. “Don’t look at me.” She hides her face behind her hands, but then peeks out between her fingers. 

Bianca rolls her eyes. 

Across from her, the counselor from Marigold has been listening in. Her name is Shea and she leans forward and says, “Katya, do you act like Ginger does?”

Katya shakes her head. “Not like Ginger. I’ve done some performance art, so there’s an element of acting but it’s certainly not as structured as a stage play.” 

“I love that,” Shea says. “I went to art school, too but it’s so hard to find a good way to apply it in the real world and still afford rent.” 

It’s easy to talk about art and Katya chats with Shea all the way until their table can get up and get in line for food. 

Ginger finds her in line, steps next to her to hold her elbow and kiss her on the shoulder. 

She feels okay again. 

So this bunch of moments, she survives. 

oooo

After dinner, they all gather at the campfire. It’s more of an amphitheater - the tiered benches look down on not a stage, but a giant fire pit surrounded by big rocks. Campfire is a nightly tradition, though it’s not dark yet. They have to introduce themselves to the campers, pitch their daily workshops. Every morning at breakfast, the kids will be able to sign up for a morning workshop and an afternoon workshop. They’ll have a little free time, but most of it will be filled with meals and activities. And the nightly campfire, of course.

Katya can see that the pit has already been set up for a fire, though no one has set it ablaze yet, and she’s glad because it’s still warm and she doesn’t want to stand in front of the campers and sweat profusely. 

Trixie has her guitar with her and leads the crowd in some singing while they wait for everyone to gather. They’d had some time to make their way back from the mess hall, change their clothes and get ready for the evening activities. Trixie seems to be able to play anything that the girls throw at her - any camp song, any silly thing from their childhood, and when they start shouting out popular songs, she doesn’t miss a beat. Her twangy, country version of Sia’s Elastic Heart even makes Katya laugh. 

This morning, Trixie had been a stranger to all of these moody, hormonal girls and now she has them all eating out of the palm of her hand. 

When Trixie finishes her song, Michelle starts a series of complicated claps that the girls all seem to know. Soon they are clapping in harmony and when Michelle stops, the campfire pit settles into silence. 

“Who are we?” Michelle yells.

“CAMP MEADOWLARK!” the crowd yells back.

“What do we do?” Michelle demands.

“LOVE EACH OTHER!” The girls cry. 

“How do we do it?” Michelle yells.

“WITH KINDNESS IN OUR HEARTS AND MINDS!” they cry. 

Michelle grins. “Good, ladies. Very good.” 

It’s a little bit hard not to feel like counselor introductions are a popularity contest. Ginger, Alyssa, and Alaska get the most applause, and Manila gets the most laughs. Even Trixie gets a fair amount of applause because it has taken her such a short time to endear herself to them. 

“Honey, you’re up,” Michelle says when Trixie is finished. 

She has to make them love her. She needs them to love her. She can’t be the last picked counselor on the team, she just can’t. And if they don’t like her, she at least needs to weird them out a little. 

So she steps up, gives them a menacing smile. Bends over, puts her hands into the dirt and pushes up into an easy handstand. She can already hear them gasp before she even lets her legs fall into the splits. 

It had been enough to impress Trixie, right? 

A few people applaud and she rights herself again, dusts off her hands and says, “Katya,” in her heavy russian accent. “I teach you yoga, _da_?”

Wide eyes look back at her. 

Michelle rolls her eyes and says, “Katya!” rather sternly. 

Katya grins and turns to look behind her. Trixie and Shea are laughing, hanging off one another. 

“Sorry,” Katya says in her normal accent. “Ladies, I’m Katya. I’m a certified yoga instructor and former gymnast and an all around very stretchy lady. I’ll be having two yoga sessions a day, beginner friendly. Spend the summer getting super fit, go home and make your friends jealous, am I right, ladies?” 

Trixie screams out another laugh behind her. 

But enough of the girls, especially the older ones are nodding thoughtfully. 

“Thank you, Katya,” Michelle says though she doesn’t sound particularly grateful. 

Katya steps back while Michelle launches into a more thorough explanation of both the schedule and the rules. 

Shea grins at her and says, “You’re so weird, I’m into it.” 

“I know, right?” Trixie says. 

“You’re just glad that you’re not the weirdest one here,” Shea says to Trixie.

“I mean, I’m not not glad,” Trixie says. 

And then Trixie gives Katya a third wink.

As Michelle finishes up her talk, Bianca and Kasha are moving around the pit and Katya realizes they are lighting the campfire. It has started to get dark and once it’s lit and roaring, Katya admires the warm fire light bouncing off of the the camper’s pretty faces. It’s interesting to watch the crowd. She can spot the new campers because she can see the uncertainty she feels in herself. Kids who are hunched over, their hands in their laps, sitting slightly apart and looking overwhelmed. 

But there are more kids who are sitting with their arms around one another, leaning in and whispering in one another’s ears. Old friends, reunited. 

She makes a note of the kids who look lonely and lost. She’ll try to find them by the light of day and give them some reassurance. It’s what she would have wanted as a kid, anyhow. 

Trixie sends them off with a song. She doesn’t ask them to sing along, just clears her throat and starts strumming a lovely melody on her guitar. 

“ _This is not a lullaby,_  
_one that makes you close your eyes_  
_Here's a song that will not try_  
_to hold you in my arms._ ”

There’s something about Trixie’s voice that makes Katya calm right down, like she’s a cow in Temple Grandin’s hugging machine. Trixie’s voice is undeniably lovely, but it’s not so spectacular that it makes goosebumps rise on anyone’s skin. Trixie’s voice is easy to listen, comfortable, homey. She carries the tune, doesn’t overwhelm the easy, sweet song she’s singing. 

When she’s done, she gives a little curtsey. 

The bunkhouse counselors all hang out long after the flower counselors have trotted their girls off to the cabins for the night. Raja and Raven are hugging by the fire and Courtney is on the opposite side, warming her hands by holding them up to the flames. 

Michelle comes over to Katya and Katya’s heart sinks. She’s going to get a scolding, she’s going to get canned, she’s going to have to pick up trash on the highway. It’s the first real day of camp and she fucked it up because she can’t hide her weird. 

But Michelle just pulls her in for a hug, another long one and then leans in and kisses her forehead. 

“I’m glad you’re here, Katya,” Michelle she says and releases her, heads toward the hose to douse the fire. 

Maybe the kindness and love is worse. Michelle’s unwavering acceptance hurts the same as a scolding because it feels undeserved. Katya’s eyes blur with tears and she wipes her face with the sleeve of her hoodie, feels like a fraud for the whole walk back to the bunkhouse. 

Trixie is already sitting on the back steps when she gets to the back door of the bunkhouse, though Katya never saw her slip away. She’s still got her guitar and is strumming mindlessly. It seems familiar, the tune, and Katya can almost recognize it but Trixie stops when she sees Katya.

“You okay?” Trixie asks. 

Katya nod, doesn’t trust herself to say anything. 

Trixie stands, swings her guitar around so it hangs off her back by the strap. She pulls open the door for Katya but doesn’t move off the steps so Katya has to slide past her. When they’re face to face, though, Trixie reaches out and Katya hesitates. Trixie takes the front piece of Katya’s hair and tucks it behind her ear. 

“Good night,” Trixie says. 

Katya wants to kiss her, but she doesn’t. The theme of her life lately is telling herself no. 

“Night,” she whispers and hurries inside. 

Still she can hear Trixie resume playing through the thin walls. Katya falls asleep listening, in her clothes and her makeup, curled up on her little bed.

oooo

The weeks have structure, they have routine, and it helps Katya. She gets up early, does yoga, meets Trixie on the back steps, drinks her coffee.

Breakfast, and then the first camper session of yoga.

Free time which she usually spends taking a walk or going down to the mess hall and hanging out with Latrice and Shangela until lunch.

Then they have rest time in the afternoon before her second yoga session and then they have dinner.

After dinner, she showers because she’s disgusting from doing yoga all day and then campfire and then bed.

She doesn’t mind the full days, finds that by Friday, her anxiety has simmered down because she knows what to expect. And her sessions are always full! Another surprise. And it’s not the same girls every time. She has repeats, but there are rules built in so that they get variety so every class is just a little bit different. The exercise helps her, too. She uses her energy on making her body and her mind strong and doesn’t have much left over to spiral into the black void of self-doubt. 

But weekends are a little different and Katya finds she’s not looking forward to it at all. Breakfast is an hour later on Saturdays and Sundays. They use the extra hour for a staff meeting, held on the deck of the lodge where most every building is in clear sight. They’ll be able to see campers trying to creep out of their cabins, but no one does because the ones that aren’t sleeping are showering or reading or writing letters while lounging on their bunks. 

Even Trixie, who is always some sort of put together is in black leggings and an oversized t-shirt that has another camp’s name on it. And her face is bare - Katya realizes that Trixie is a wizard with makeup because the proportion of her features is totally different than how they appear. Also, Katya can see just the beginning of ashy blonde roots where the pink is growing out. 

Katya sits next to her and says, “Are you a real, human person?”

“Don’t fucking tell a single soul,” Trixie says. 

She doesn’t miss a beat. Katya likes it very much. 

Weekends are composed of mostly free time for the campers, though there are still rules about where they can and cannot go. Courtney spends most of the day at the lake so the girls can swim if they want and Bianca always leaves a variety of arts and crafts supplies out in the lodge so the girls can hang out and make friendship bracelets or write letters or paint something. There’s a volleyball court and a big stretch of browning grass where the athletic ones can kick a ball around. One of the rooms in the lodge is a library, small but Gingers says that Michelle buys new books every year so there’s always something at least somewhat current. 

Weekends are also when they go on supply runs down the mountain. Someone always needs something - the girl who forgot socks, or Latrice found mold on the hamburger buns and they need to buy replacements, or the ice machine is on the fritz and someone has to go pick up a part. Michelle asks for a volunteer to go down the mountain with her and Shangela raises her hand. 

“Katya, you can come help me with lunch, can’t you, baby?” Latrice asks and Katya nods. Latrice is maybe her favorite person here that she doesn’t want to sleep with and she feels validated by being wanted. 

Latrice and Shangela leave first to go get breakfast finished.

Weekend afternoons, the whole camp comes together to do some sort of organized activity. A game, or sometimes a project to better the camp. Because it’s been so hot, Michelle determines they’ll do a water fight down at the lakeshore, so Trixie volunteers to fill water balloons during free time with Adore and Dela agreeing to help. 

Katya feels a little pang that she’s already assigned herself to lunch because that sounds fun too, but Dela mentions that the best sink for balloons is the the kitchen, so she perks back up again. 

Breakfast is fluffy pancakes with warm syrup and blackberry jam. Campers can sit wherever they want to for the most part now, unless Michelle tells them to sit in cabin groups at the door. Michelle likes an adult at every table when it’s a free for all, so Katya stakes her claim at a table near the back, setting her wooden name tag at her place setting and then going to get coffee. 

When she comes back, she’s surprised to see that the table has filled - half with girls she knows from her workshops but also there are some more unfamiliar faces from the older end of the camp spectrum.

“Goodness,” she says setting her coffee mug down. “Teens.”

The prettiest girl at the table is tall and tan with dark brown hair and sea green eyes. The kind of pretty where she’s perfectly aware of it, people have been telling her how pretty she is her whole life. Her name is Lexie and she brushes her glossy hair behind her shoulder and says, “Katya, what are you doing for free time today?”

“Lexie, I’m helping Latrice with lunch, why do you ask?” Katya inquires, settling herself into her chair. 

“The whole free period?” she asks.

“Oh, probably not,” Katya admits. 

“Great,” Lexie says, glancing at the other girls. Her older friends and even the younger girls. She recognizes the three girls from Marigold - they can’t be more than thirteen. “We were wondering if you’d do makeovers with us today.”

Katya feels her mouth fall open. “What? Me?”

The girls all nod enthusiastically. 

“Not like, Adore or Trixie?” Katya asks, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” says one of the other girls from Primrose, Lexie’s cabin. Her name is Brooklyn and she’s pale and got red hair, though Katya can clock right away that it’s fake. “You’re so like… cool. Not 100% glam, not too punk. It’s like, just right.” 

“If you crazy kids want, we can meet in the yoga room,” Katya says. “But you gotta bring your own stuff.”

They cheer and Katya is confused but happy enough. 

And when breakfast is over and only a few are lingering, Trixie wanders over to her table and plops across from her. 

“Your table seemed cheerful,” she says.

“Yeah, they want me to go to makeovers with them,” Katya says. 

“Aw,” Trixie says, her expression softening. “They love you!” 

“Nothing like a harsh red lip to win over the affection of adolescent females,” Katya says in her horror voice. But Trixie is not put off, just rests her chin on her hand and smiles. “Hey,” Katya says.

“Hey,” she replies.

“You want to come be my model?” Katya asks. “Let me paint you for the good of the camp?”

Trixie scrunches up her face, says, “Hmm.”

Katya holds up her hand as if taking a vow and says, “I promise to do a pink lip.” 

“Well in that case,” she says. “I guess we have a little time to kill before we have to do our chores.” 

Katya feels better having another counselor there with her, happy that it’s Trixie. They walk back to the bunkhouse together to get their supplies. Katya’s makeup bag is both pathetic and disgusting - a gallon sized ziplock bag filled with old makeup that probably needs replacing and four or five really dirty brushes. When she carries it into Trixie’s room, Trixie literally recoils at the sight and says, “Girl!”

“I have _flaws_ , Trixie, how dare you judge me for them,” Katya says, though she’s laughing while she says it. 

“Nothing in the bag is going anywhere near my face,” Trixie says. 

Of course Trixie’s makeup is in a makeup appropriate bag - pale blue with frolicing unicorns on it. She has a separate bag for just brushes and they all look clean. 

“Nobody likes a show off,” Katya says. 

“Wrong, bitch, I’m great,” Trixie says, gathering her supplies in her arms. 

Katya still brings her bag along. 

“A cautionary tale,” she says in her Russian accent. It makes Trixie laugh, which makes Katya feel good. A welcome, if unfamiliar, feeling. 

When they get to the yoga room, there are at least fifteen girls there, spread out with their makeup on the floor. You can tell in the room who has money by what they have. That doesn’t bother, Katya, though, because she can do the same thing with drugstore products. So that’s what she starts with.

“High end makeup is nice, ladies, but it is not necessary!” 

She grins at everyone, plops down at the front of the room. Trixie sits down next to her more demurely. 

“Thanks for coming to my TED talk,” Katya says. Only Trixie laughs but then gently steers Katya back onto topic.

“What’s the most important thing to do when you start your makeup,” Trixie asks.

“Good lighting,” someone calls.

“Good lighting is always important, but no,” Trixie says.

“Enough time?” someone else asks. 

Katya leans in and says in a loud stage whisper, “Tracy, they’re filthy animals.” 

“Wash your face and your hands!” Trixie says. “Don’t be gross!”

So then they wait for everyone to go wash their hands in the bathroom and come back. 

Actually, as they progress through Katya doing Trixie’s makeup, Katya finds they have a sort of fun chemistry and they keep the girls laughing. Trixie pretends like she’s horrified but Katya knows she wouldn’t let Katya near her if she were really concerned and Katya uses Trixie’s stuff on Trixie, so it’s fine. 

Lexie asks what’s better, brushes or sponges and Katya says brushes and Trixie says sponges but only the beauty blender and that sparks a pretty good discussion on technique.

“Don’t wear foundation until you really have to,” Trixie offers. “Like, you may have a zit or two but your skin is never gonna be this young again and it’s really a sin to cover it all up. Get a heavy duty concealer and appreciate your youth.” 

Katya is grateful for Trixie’s maternal running commentary, because once she starts on Trixie’s eyes, it’s hard to talk at the same time. In the last week, Katya has seen Trixie in a variety of makeup looks but it’s always basically the same - pink lips and a winged out liquid liner. Now, Katya does a smokey black eye on her but still angles it out to mimic the shape Trixie prefers. 

Trixie is saying something about cream bases under powders when Katya sits back on her heels to look at her work.

Trixie is really pretty. 

“You’re really pretty,” Katya says. 

“You hear that, ladies? She puts her own look on me and suddenly I’m pretty,” Trixie jokes. 

One of the girls from Ginger’s cabin says, “What about lashes?”

“Listen,” Katya says. “Youtube makes it seem like fake lashes are an everyday thing and it’s not true! It’s not true! False lashes are appropriate for being on a stage and for getting married and literally no other time.”

“Like, if you just show up for work at your Hot Dog on a Stick job in falsies, you’re ridiculous,” Trixie says. “And everyone knows that and talks about it when you aren’t there.”

“Plus lash glue is bad for your lash line,” says a voice from the door. Michelle. 

Katya gets that swoopy feeling in her stomach like maybe she’s done something wrong but Michelle just winks at them all. 

“Campers, I need Katya and Miss Mattel to go do other things for me. Can you set them free, please?”

The girls murmur yes and start to rise. Someone them have come just to listen, some have various products on their face and hands. Michelle gives them high fives as they leave. 

“Sorry, mom,” Katya says. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Michelle says. “I’m always happy to find my staff engaging with campers in a positive way. But Latrice is asking for you, Katya.”

Katya nods. 

When Michelle is gone, Trixie says, “You have to at least finish my face. I don’t even have mascara or lipstick on.” 

“What mascara do you like?” Katya asks, digging through Trixie’s makeup bag.

“That gold one,” Trixie says. Katya pulls the fat gold tube out, but something catches her eye as she does so. The very familiar label on the bottom of a very familiar tube of lipstick. 

Katya gasps, grabs it and says, “ _Bitch!_ ” 

“What?” Trixie asks, taking the mascara out of her other hand and putting it on herself in the hand mirror she has. 

“This is me! This is my color! I can’t believe you have this, Miss Pink Lips!” Katya says.

“It’s Russian Red by MAC, literally everyone has that,” Trixie says dismissively. 

“You have to let me use this,” Katya says, uncapping it. It’s not pristine, but has clearly been used once or twice. 

“You promised pink,” Trixie halfway whines. 

“Come on,” Katya says. “Please. Please, please? Pleeeease?”

Trixie puts the mascara wand back into the tube and tosses it back into her makeup bag. She puts the mirror down and tilts her head. 

“Did you mean it when you said I was pretty?” Trixie asks. 

Katya starts digging through the makeup bag again and says, “Yes.” She finds a brown lip liner and thinks it will do well enough.

“Thank you, then,” Trixie says. “I’m always surprised when pretty girls find me pretty. I always feel like… I don’t know, like I got away with something. Tricked ‘em.” 

She looks down at the lip liner and takes it from Katya. 

“Like, you’re not just… you’re beautiful, Trixie. And you should be told so more often, apparently.” Katya can’t quite meet her eyes when she says it. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be all…” she flails around helplessly. “Gay?”

Trixie laughs and Katya looks up. Trixie has overdrawn her lips with the brown liner just a little and it looks like an outline of exactly where Katya wants to kiss her. Press lips here. 

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with gay,” Trixie says in a fake twang and leans forward a little. Pouts. “Fill me in.”

Katya has to make herself not groan out loud. She’d love nothing more. 

She drags the red across Trixie’s lips and watches her press them together. 

“You didn’t put highlight on,” Trixie says softly.

“I don’t really like highlighter,” Katya confesses, still looking at those pouty red lips.

“Well, no one is perfect,” Trixie says. She gets herself up off the floor and sticks out a hand, helps haul Katya to her feet. “Come on, we gotta get to the mess hall.” 

Trixie holds Katya’s fingers all the way to the door. Drops them only because Katya pulls them away, afraid Trixie will feel how sweaty she is, will be able to feel her pulse jumping underneath her skin. 

She wipes her hands on her shorts and follows Trixie to the mess hall. Would follow her anywhere, at this point. To another building, down the mountain, off a cliff, if she asked.


	4. Chapter 4

_“She sang that night like - I cannot say like an angel, for her songs were all of champagne suppers and strolling in the Burlington Arcade; perhaps, then, like a fallen angel - or yet again like a falling one: she sang like a falling angel might sing with the bounds of heaven fresh burst behind him, and hell still distant and unguessed."_

**Tipping the Velvet - Sarah Waters**

*

Adore, Trixie, and Dela must fill up three hundred water balloons but it feels like they last about fifteen minutes into the water fight by the lake. Katya has no interest in cold water or being pelted so she climbs up onto the wooden lifeguard platform with Courtney and stays out of the line of fire. Courtney has a megaphone so she uses it to provide commentary. 

“Come on Victoria, you call that a throw? Shoot for the moon! If you miss, at least you die in space, which is cool.” She puts the megaphone down to see Courtney giving her a look. 

“You’re a weirdo,” Courtney says.

“You’re Australian, you don’t know nothing about nothing,” Katya says. 

“True,” Courtney says. “But this is a weird country.”

Katya picks up the megaphone and says, “Bellas, I can see you, we can all see you.” 

The two Bellas are still on friendly terms and are trying to creep away from the lake. They stop, turn around and trudge back toward the mandatory fun. 

“Latrice told me this is your first summer camp?” Courtney says. “Ever?”

“Listen, I had a very loving family, they wanted me around in the summer, I guess,” Katya says. “Also I’m city people, we don’t understand this kind of outdoors.” She picks up the megaphone and says, “Where are the on fire dumpsters, Courtney? Where’s the stank?”

A few of the girls shout something up to her, but she misses it. “What?” she says.

They wave their arms, pointing to a group several yards away, hold up some of the rare, unpopped water balloons. 

“I think they’re asking you for trajectory advice,” Courtney says. Michelle has provided them with big slingshots. 

“I don’t know, I’m not a scientist,” Katya says into the megaphone. “Have you tried being braver?”

Ginger’s voice is loud enough to hear. “Can it, ya weirdo!”

Katya lowers the speaker and says, “Why does everyone say weird like it’s a bad thing?”

“Eh, people are boring,” Courtney says. She squints out at the water. “Does that girl look like she’s drowning?”

Katya shields her eyes with her hands and gazes out. It’s a lot of splashing for a girl who is on her own. “Maybe,” she says thoughtfully. 

Courtney groans, stands and climbs down the wooden ladder to jog toward the lake. 

And then at the base of the platform is Trixie, drenched in her little retro cut black bathing suit. She’s all cleavage and ass because the world is cruel and Katya must suffer. 

“What are you doing up there?” Trixie calls. 

Katya lifts the megaphone and says, “Thinking about safety.” 

Trixie shakes her head and says, “I’m coming up.” 

When she gets up, Katya can see her face is a disaster. All that black shadow and mascara and eyeliner is running down her face and her hair has gone flat with water. 

“Yikes,” Katya says. 

“I haven’t seen it, but I can’t imagine it’s good,” Trixie says. 

“You know how in those bukkake porns-”

“Katya, no, stop,” Trixie says. “No to all of that.” 

“You look like the after,” Katya says into the megaphone. Trixie reaches out and presses the plastic speaker down. 

“That is literally the most horrible thing anyone has ever said to me,” she says. 

Katya grins. “Do I get like a trophy or something?”

Trixie opens her mouth to respond but below there’s a shout and then the sound of someone crying. 

“Ah,” Trixie says. “The universal signal that this water fight has come to its inevitable conclusion.” She stands. Her toes are painted a dark red which is interesting since everything else has been pastel up to now. Katya wants to put them into her mouth. 

Down below, counselors are rounding up their cabins, Raven is attending to the crying girl and Katya can see Courtney down at the shore, watching the girls who are still in the water. 

“I think I’ll help clean up,” Katya says. 

“I’m gonna wash my face,” Trixie tells her. “See ya on the other side.”

Katya climbs down after her, starts walking the rocky shore to pick up the colorful pieces of rubber that serve as collateral damage from a good water fight. Raja and Bianca see her and start to do the same. Bianca produces a plastic bag from somewhere and they nearly fill it half way before they can’t find anymore. 

“Was this worth it?” Bianca mutters. “Don’t ask.” 

But Katya thinks fun is always worth it, so she happily takes the bag to dispose of while setting the other two free. By the time she makes it back to the bunkhouse, it’s clear Trixie has showered because she’s sitting on the back steps, brushing out her long, pink hair. It’s really long with all the water weighing down her curls. Gone is her swimsuit, now she’s back in leggings and a t-shirt, though this one is black and doesn’t have anything printed on it. 

“Can you braid?” she asks. 

“Um?” Katya says. 

“Like french braid,” Trixie says. “Hair? My hair?”

“Uh,” Katya says. Her brain short circuits for a moment at the idea of being able to stick her hands into all that pink hair. 

“It wasn’t meant to be a complex question,” Trixie says.

“Yes,” Katya says. “I can. I’m better at dutch braids.” 

“Great,” Trixie says. “Will you do me?”

“I will certainly do you, if that’s what you want,” Katya says. Trixie grins, so the innuendo wasn’t an accident. It makes Katya start to sweat actively. 

“Good to know,” Trixie says. “Come on, let’s go to my room. You can sit on the bed and I can sit on the floor.” 

Katya follows dutifully along, chucking the bag of broken balloons into the trash can by the back door. 

“One or two?” Katya asks, sitting carefully on the edge of Trixie’s made bed. Katya’s is currently a tangle of sheet and blanket. 

“Two,” Trixie says, grabbing hair elastics off the top of the dresser. She sits on the floor between Katya’s knees and holds up the elastics. Katya takes them, clears her throat. She uses the handle of the brush to help part the hair.

“You have a lot of hair,” Katya says.

“Believe me, I know,” Trixie says. “Watch, we’ll braid it now and if I sleep on it and take it out in the morning, it’ll still be wet.” 

Katya ties off one half of the hair and goes to work on the other. Trixie smells clean and fresh and Katya doesn’t want to spend this whole time obsessing with trembling hands so she has to get Trixie talking.

“So you live in LA,” Katya says. “And you love camp. Do you have a family? Pets? Friends?”

“I have a family, no pets, and it’s complicated,” Trixie says. “I move around a lot and am often in scenarios where I have no cell service for long stretches of time. So I have friends that I never see or talk to, I guess.” 

“I guess that means no significant life partner,” Katya says, sectioning off the hair. She feels both brave and stupid for asking.

“I guess not,” Trixie says. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Katya says.

“Friends? Pets? Family? Girlfriend?” she asks. 

“I have a family, my parents have a golden retriever that I am in no way responsible for. I have less friends than I started with but that’s for the best. No girlfriend.” Katya tugs on Trixie’s hair a little to get her to tilt her head so she can braid down behind the ear. 

“What happened to all your friends?” Trixie asks.

Katya hesitates, her hands stalling. But then the braid starts to slip so she resumes, tugging the pink hair tight again.

“I happened,” Katya says. “I’m a… difficult friend.”

Trixie snorts a noise of disbelief. 

“I like, never text anyone back,” Katya jokes, hoping to deflect away from a more serious conversation. Maybe it was a pipe dream to hope she’d get through a whole summer without anyone knowing about her being an addict or, as her rehab therapist liked to say, a person experiencing addiction. But she likes Trixie and just doesn’t want to ruin things so soon. 

“Borrow clothes and never return them?” Trixie asks.

“Definitely,” Katya says, tying off the end of the first braid. “I say I’ll water your plants but then you come home after two weeks and they’re all dead.” 

“Are you one of those people who order a steak and I order a salad and then you tell the waitress to split the check evenly?” Trixie asks.

“No, I just make you pay for everything or like, dine and dash,” Katya says. “Trixie, I am trouble.” 

“Right here in River City?” Trixie asks. 

Katya laughs, picks up the brush to go through the other side of her hair. 

“Right here, mama,” Katya says warmly. 

They’re quiet for a bit as Katya tackles the hardest part of the braid. And then Trixie says, “No one is perfect, Katya. No one expects that.” 

Katya mulls this over for a few seconds, the earnestness in Trixie’s tone. Decides to divert things away from the serious again.

“Good, because these roots are getting too real,” Katya says. 

Trixie screams. “You bitch! I have all the stuff, I was thinking of doing it tomorrow. Adore said she’d help.” 

“Well there you go,” Katya says. “Looks like perfection is in reach for some after all.”

She ties off the other braid and Trixie turns around and looks up at her with a big smile. 

“Is it good?” she asks. 

Katya reaches out and pulls out a few pieces of hair to frame Trixie’s round, pretty face.

“Just right,” Katya says.

oooo

Sunday morning after breakfast, Katya goes to the lodge and closes herself in Michelle’s office. She has two scheduled appointments - a phone check in with her probation officer and a phone check in with her therapist. It’s part of the deal of this camp gig and Katya is fine with it. The probation officer is nice enough, the therapist is not a great fit but is better than nothing. The therapist works at the rehab clinic and when Katya gets through her probation and is more independent, she can find a therapist that works better for her.

Fucking up means not having a lot of choices. 

So she pulls out the piece of paper from her pockets where her mother had written the numbers and calls the first one up. It’s not so bad, really, or very long. Yes she’s doing well, considering. Yes, she’s sober. No she hasn’t had contact with anyone outside of the camp. Yes, if he were to contact Michelle, she’d agree. Katya promises to check in next week.

And then, the therapist. 

Generally Katya loves nothing more than to talk about herself, but not in this thin-walled office. She can hear girls out in the lodge, playing ping pong and making friendship bracelets. It makes her slump down in the chair, hold the phone close to her face.

“I’m good,” she says. “I like it here.”

And she realizes that she does like it here. And she’s good enough. She admits that she does think about drugs like, all the time. Maybe she’ll think about drugs all the time for the rest of her life, but thinking about them isn’t doing them, and she likes being in an area where she’s not faced with the choice of having them right now.

“And what will you do when you are faced with that choice,” he asks Katya, his voice as close as if he were sitting across from her.

“I don’t know,” she says. “Ask me in seven weeks.” 

When she’s done, she has to find Michelle so Michelle can sign off on a piece of paper for her that she did her check-ins. It’s demeaning but she’d left her dignity far behind her at this point. A speck in the mirror. 

Michelle is out on the deck with Ginger when Katya comes out.

“Sign please,” Katya says handing her the paper and a pen Katya had taken from Michelle’s desk. 

“Turn around,” Michelle says. She signs the paper against Katya’s back. 

“Hey,” Ginger says. “We’re just about to do cabin inspections, wanna come?”

“Cabin inspections?” Katya asks taking the paper and folding it up small enough that she can shove it into the cup of her bra. Michelle doesn’t give back the pen, instead sticks it into the bun high on her head. 

“Yeah, we do them weekly to make sure everything doesn’t descend into filth,” Ginger says. “The first one is always a surprise.” 

“Even for the girls who have been before?” Katya asks. 

“They should know better but,” Michelle says, clicking her tongue against her teeth. “They never do, do they, Ging?”

“My cabin does,” Ginger says smugly. 

“Great! Let’s start with hyacinth then,” Michelle says with a grin. The smile drops off of Ginger’s face but she doesn’t fight it. Katya trails along, happy to be included and a little tired from her phone calls. She feels like sticking close to those who love her, which at last count, was Ginger and Michelle. 

Michelle has a little notepad in her back pocket and makes notes at each cabin they visit. Hyacinth is tidy, though not sparkling clean. Katya convinces Michelle to add an extra point because the welcome sign is still hanging and very well made, if Katya does say so herself. Still, as they move on to Dela’s cabin, Gardenia, Katya realizes that Ginger’s cabin is probably going to be cleanest. On Gardenia, there’s clothes everywhere, unmade beds, makeup and pictures and half eaten snacks lying around.

“Oh, that’s a no-no,” Ginger says. “Dela knows better.”

Tatianna’s cabin is next, Jasmine, and Katya finds it to be untidy but generally clean. There’s a huge pile of shoes on the little porch, which helps the floor not be so cluttered and dusty. 

Primrose is Katya’s favorite cabin so far, it belongs to Alyssa and it smells like expensive perfume _and_ she’d changed out all the plain blue curtains for sheer pink numbers that make the light that comes in rosy and warm. There’s also fairy lights strung through the rafters.

“She’s so extra,” Ginger complains bitterly.

“Don’t be jealous,” Katya says. Michelle lets out a cackle. 

Kasha’s cabin is Daffodil and she has most of the really young girls, the ten and eleven-year-olds. The cabin is actually pretty tidy and Michelle makes a pleased sound. 

“If I lose this first week, Visage, I’m gonna quit in a rage,” Ginger warns her. 

Adore’s cabin, Poppy, is an on fire dumpster. It’s so gross that even Katya is kind of disturbed. It smells weird, the way it’s situated between the trees makes it really dark and when Michelle sticks her head in the bathroom she says, “Gross! They didn’t even flush!”

Katya laughs when they go into Magnolia, which is Sharon’s cabin.

“What?” Ginger asks.

“Like, Poppy was the punk rock of cabins but this is the Hot Topic of cabins,” Katya says. There are spooky decorations and a string of orange lights above what is obviously Sharon’s bed but it’s still clean and not, overall, that scary or alternative. 

Peony belongs to Alaska, and Ginger calls it the senioritis cabin. It’s full of girls in their later years, all the girls who get the coveted, yet meaningless title of junior counselor. They mostly guide the girls from activity to activity and keep an eye on things when the counselors are in meetings or dealing with an emergency. 

And last is Shea’s cabin, Marigold. It’s middle of the pack, standard. They stand on Marigold’s deck for awhile tallying the scores and that’s where Shea finds them, holding an armful of things that must belong to her campers. 

“Oh _shit_ ,” Shea says when she spots them. “I forget every damn year!”

“Eh, you’re fine,” Michelle says. “Didn’t win or lose.” 

“Way to not be the gross kid,” Ginger says. “That honor goes to…” Ginger beats out a drumroll on the deck railing. 

“Adore,” Shea says.

“You know it,” Michelle says. 

“Do you inspect the bunkhouse, too?” Katya asks, as they head back toward the center of camp. 

“Only if something starts smelling weird,” Michelle says. 

Katya breaks off to put away her sign-off sheet and to have a cigarette on the back porch. She’s been smoking maybe four times a day, way less than usual. The structure is good for her. The bunkhouse is on the back side of the campground and while it’s not technically out of bounds for campers, there’s nothing for them to do over here, so girls hardly ever wander over to catch Katya with a cigarette in her mouth. 

Except for today, because two girls round the corner, one of them clutching a bloody hand. 

“Katya!” The non-bleeder is Olivia, the girl bleeding and crying is one of Kasha’s younger girls, Hannah. “Hannah fell and cut her hand on a rock!”

Katya gets to her feet, drops her half smoked cigarette into the coke can full of butts and looks at the hand. 

It’s a pretty deep gash. 

“Okay,” she says. “Stay right here.” 

In her room is one more clean washcloth so she grabs it and makes Hannah press it against her bleeding cut. 

“Let’s go to the medical cabin, okay?”

It’s Raja who is on duty, sitting on the porch of the med cabin reading a Vogue magazine. 

Hannah can walk on her own and looks upset but Katya can tell other than the cut, she’s not seriously injured. 

“Raja! We got a bleeder, repeat, we have a BLEEDER,” Katya calls. 

Hannah and Olivia both laugh as Raja leaps to her feet. 

It turns out that Hannah probably needs a stitch or two so Katya sends Olivia off to resume her normal Sunday activities and then goes to find Kasha. Kasha and Raja will have to take her down the mountain to the emergency clinic. When Kasha and Katya return to the med cabin, Michelle is there comforting her. Michelle gets everyone into her truck and sends them down the mountain. Raven takes over Raja’s cabin coverage.

“Katya, can you please keep an eye on Kasha’s cabin while she’s gone?” Michelle asks. “I have no idea how long they’re going to take.”

“Sure,” Katya says, though she doesn’t feel at all certain she’s capable of keeping even herself alive, let alone a group of girls. 

“Why do they never hurt themselves on a weekday?” Michelle mutters. 

It doesn’t turn out to matter until it’s lunch time and everyone gathers in cabin groups outside of the mess hall. 

“Where’s Kasha?” asks one of the girls. “Where’s Hannah?”

“Hannah got hurt!” Olivia proclaims. 

“Hannah is going to be just fine,” Katya says. “She fell down and cut her hand and they took her to the doctor just to make sure she would be okay.”

“Kasha is gone too?” says Lila, a small girl with long black braids that remind her of Trixie. 

“Yep, so I’m going to eat lunch with you and have rest time with you,” Katya says.

“Kasha calls it turtle time because we get quiet and stay in our beds like we’re in our shells,” says a tall girl names Keisha. 

“Okay, I will turtle with you and then probably they should be back,” Katya says. 

“What if they aren’t back,” asks Olivia. “It was so much blood, what if she needs _surgery_ and has to go to the _hospital_?”

“It was some blood,” Katya says. “Not so much. And I will stay with you for however long it takes, okay?”

They all seem satisfied. Lila edges closer to Katya and then slowly slides her hand into Katya’s hand. Katya doesn’t mind at all and they stand there waiting for the mess hall doors to open. Another girl sees them and calls across the field, “Lila, don’t be a baby!”

Lila looks up at Katya and rolls her eyes. “That’s my sister.”

“Do you want to stick out our tongues at her?” Katya asks. Lila nods and they turn, stick out their tongues which causes several shrieks and giggles. 

When they get into the mess hall, Katya ushers them to a table and collapses into a seat of her own. Trixie is already standing at the front with her guitar; apparently she’s been drafted to help whoever has KP sing a grace song. Katya waves at Trixie and Trixie winks at her.

“Are you friends with her?” Lila asks. 

“I would say yes,” Katya says. “We’re new friends.”

“I like her,” Lila says. “She’s pretty.”

“Very,” Katya says. 

“Like a Barbie doll,” Lila says. 

“You should tell her you think that, she would love it.”

The meal is fine, but Katya isn’t looking forward to turtle time. There’s something uncomfortable about being in someone’s space when that person isn’t there. Even though Michelle asked her to watch Kasha’s cabin and the girls have all been welcoming and sweet, the walk back to Daffodil fills Katya with anxiety. She just wants it to be tomorrow already, so she can fill her days with silly yoga and routine. 

She can’t bring herself to sit on Kasha’s bed, so she climbs up to Hannah’s top bunk. The girls are well trained, half of them get out a book, some curl up into little balls and actually go to sleep. Olivia on the bunk below her gets out some paper and starts writing something, probably a letter. Katya likes the scratchy sound of the pencil against the paper.

“Hey,” Katya says. “Do you guys ever get mail here?” It’s weird that they send mail out but never receive anything in return. 

“Not the first week,” says Sydney from one of the bottom bunks. “Michelle holds it all. We’re supposed to adjust, or something.”

“She doesn’t like us thinking about home and getting homesick too soon,” says Keisha. 

“Do you get homesick?” Katya asks. 

“Some girls do,” Olivia says from below. “Usually if it’s your first year.”

Katya has seen plenty of girls crying in this first week, but she hasn’t had anyone ask to go home or call home, even. But then again, she’s not responsible for any of the girls. Not really. Homesick isn’t really a thing that Katya gets either. She’s happy enough to live in the moment and anyway, she’d been evicted and is now back in her parent’s house. Which used to be home, but hasn’t felt like it for a long time.

She thinks about Trixie’s nomadic life, how home is as much as a storage unit as anything else. She wonders if she could live that kind of life, always moving, always on the road. She thinks maybe she could, if she could figure out how to not wildly lose control of her life again.

She always tests herself by thinking about how if someone offered her drugs right now, could she say no? Or would she’d do them.

She’d do them. For sure.

So not better yet, not ready for independence. She knows it’s possible because people do get sober, but she’s not not sure how, and -

The bell rings out across the camp. Turtle time has ended.

The afternoon activity is either swimming again, because it’s so hot, or a movie inside because it’s so hot, and so Katya gets the girls situated and then Kasha and Hannah come back and Katya is free.

She’s weirdly exhausted so she goes back to the bunkhouse and crawls into her bed, smashing her face into her pillow and falling asleep.

oooo

Trixie wakes Katya up with a plate of food. Katya hears the door open, the sound of something being set on the dresser, and feels the mattress dip.

And then a hand on her back. 

“Jesus, ew,” Trixie says. “You’re so sweaty.”

Katya opens her eyes, rolls over. “What are you doing in here?” She feels groggy, other-worldly, liminal. 

“You slept through dinner, I brought you a plate,” Trixie says. 

“I guess I was tired,” Katya says. 

Trixie’s second day braids are holding, but Katya can tell she must have gone swimming because they look like they’ve been wet and dried again. A little frizzy around her face. And she’s wearing her bathing suit, and over that a yellow pinafore dress for modesty. It’s still hot, still daylight out even though the light has changed. Sunset is not so far off now. 

“Come on, let’s go take a shower. We have time before campfire.”

“Um,” Katya says, pushing herself up onto her elbows and squinting. “Together?”

“Hey,” Trixie says. “If you can figure out the physics of getting the both of us into one tiny shower stall, I fully support it.” She grins. 

Actually, a shower sounds fine. She _is_ sweaty. Plus, seeing Trixie in a towel, knowing she’ll be naked only feet away, well. It makes Katya’s tummy swoop. 

They get their shower things together. Katya has a basket of toiletries, wears just her robe and brings an extra towel for her hair. Trixie has a cloth bag with a drawstring that she has over her shoulder. The shower house is empty when they arrive and Trixie stands in front of the mirror to unravel her braids and brush out all her cotton candy hair.

“It’s so long, I need to cut off like ten inches,” she says. 

“Don’t you dare,” Katya says, looking at her own hair. Flat on one side from sleeping and her bangs are stuck to her sweaty forehead. 

“It grows fast,” Trixie promises. “Maybe at the end of the summer.”

There’s a row of five showers, Katya prefers the one at the end so that’s what she takes. Trixie takes the one right next to her, doesn’t leave a buffer stall which Katya doesn’t mind. 

Trixie sings in the shower, her voice bouncing off the shower walls. Katya takes longer because she spends half the time leaning against the cool wall, listening to Trixie singing “ _Been so long since I seen your face, or felt a part of this human race, I’ve been living out of this here suitcase for way too long…_ ”

And so Trixie is done before her, calls that she’ll see her back at the bunkhouse and it’s a relief, actually, to be alone and not think of wet curves and Trixie’s voice luring her like sirens on the rocks. 

Katya enjoys campfire. Michelle passes around the ingredients for s’mores and Trixie leads them in singing. She has not her guitar this time, but a little powder blue ukulele and it’s very informal and relaxed. Katya eats three marshmallows, laughs with Shea and Manila, keeps Trixie in the corner of her eye. Just feels a little bit happy in the glow of the fire, surrounded by women and girls and the stars so bright in the night sky.

She volunteers to put out the campfire but leaves it burning for awhile after all of the campers go back to their cabins and then everyone from the bunkhouse drifts away. Katya had taken a long nap, so she’s not tired yet. She just sits and watches the flames. 

Only when the campfire has mostly burned itself out does she douse the pit, turn the ashes, and take herself to bed.


	5. Chapter 5

_"I did not think that I could bear it. My head whirled, I closed my eyes - and sank upon her doorstep in a swoon."_

**Tipping the Velvet - Sarah Waters**

*

Michelle announces she’s going to watch over Poppy while they clean their disgusting cabin up to her standards, so Adore uses it as an excuse to get out of there and come hangout in the bunkhouse. A week and a half into camp and they’re all started to get a little itchy for time away from the kids.

Adore has done most of a cosmetology degree - Katya doesn’t judge. She, too, is an expert in starting things and never finishing them. Making promises she can’t keep. Letting people down.

Katya isn’t exactly a part of this hair dyeing party, but her door is open and so is Trixie’s, so she’s a part of things. She’s lying on her stomach facing the wrong way on her bed, a quarter of the way through Tipping the Velvet. This book was easier to read the first time, when she was stoned. Now it’s good, but dense. She has to read and process every word and when Adore plugs her phone into Trixie’s pink lightning cable and turns on music, Katya gives up all together and just watches.

The back door is open so the bleach smell doesn’t drive them out, but the screen door has been banging. Katya finally gets up to go latch it with the little hook and eye. Outside is windy and overcast.

“Looks like weather,” Katya comments.

“It usually rains once or twice a summer,” Adore says. “It helps it not be so hot.”

They’d just been through a heat wave, so the cool air is welcomed and it ruffles Katya’s bangs. When she turns back, Trixie’s roots are all slimy with bleach.

“I’m not gonna bother with foils,” Adore says. “Your hair is light enough and we’re just gonna put pink on it anyway.”

Trixie is chewing bubble gum and reading a magazine on her lap and just says, “‘Kay.” Blows a bubble and pops it with her tongue

Katya decides that she’s going to do a load of laundry before it starts to rain, so she starts shoving dirty clothes into her empty duffel back and tosses her laundry detergent into the bag, too. She jogs the distance between the bunkhouse and the shower house, where there’s an old, coin operated washer and dryer. However, the vault that the quarters fall into is unlocked, so everyone just uses the same four quarters over and over again with every load. Katya shoves her clothes in, lights and darks mixed together and dumps some detergent on top of it. Slots in the quarters and pushes them in, listens to the fall into the empty chamber with a metal clank. She closes the lid and then jumps on top of it, lying across the top of the washer and dryer, even though it’s dusty.

It’s good to be alone, even in the dark, humid shower house. The camp is quiet because everyone is in their bunks and the breeze keeps blowing through the open window above her. She lies there long enough that it’s Trixie who finds her, come in to wash the bleach out of her hair.

“There you are,” Trixie says. “You never came back.”

“Sorry,” Katya says, but she doesn’t sit up. Just turns her head to watch Trixie look at herself in the mirror. She’s got a funny expression, scrunches up her nose at her reflection. “What’s wrong?”

Trixie’s face immediately relaxes. “Nothing,” she says. “I just… nothing.”

“You sure?” Now Katya sits up, swings her legs down to hang over the side of the churning washer. The cycle is almost done now. Soon it will switch to a spin cycle.

“Sometimes I think I’m stupid for all of this,” Trixie admits.

“All of what?” Katya asks.

“The hair and the… clothes and the makeup. All the things I do to try to… I don’t know. Like myself, I guess,” Trixie says. “It sure would be easier to cut all this hair off and let it grow out natural, to wear jeans everyday, to keep a bare face but that never feels right, either.”

“I think feeling good in your own skin is as important as anything else,” Katya says. “Not stupid at all.”

“Yeah?” Trixie asks, turning to look at her. “You don’t think I’m vain?”

Katya shakes her head. “Not at all.”

“You always seem so sure of yourself,” Trixie says. “Confident. I think that’s really cool, Katya.”

Katya doesn’t have the heart to tell her it’s a complete façade, that she absolutely hates herself and the person she’s become, that inside she’s always just screaming. That her brain is the sound of a spoon in the garbage disposal and that’s on a good day and the only thing that makes it stop also fully ruins her life.

So she just says, “Thanks.” And then, “Do you need help washing it out?”

The sinks in their bedrooms are small and shallow, but the sinks in the shower house are three faucets over a long and deep trough style basin. Plenty of room for her to stick her head under.

“If you don’t mind,” Trixie says. She puts her towel around her shoulders and sticks her head under the faucet. The showers have hot water but the sinks only pump in cold. Trixie doesn’t complain, though, just lets Katya rinse the hair and the rub the sweet smelling shampoo into her scalp.

“Conditioner?” Katya asks, watching the ends of Trixie’s long hair try to creep down the drain. Trixie reaches around to try to wring some of the water out.

“After the pink,” she says, and flips her hair back. Katya jumps back, avoiding the spray. Trixie’s face is wet, her makeup is all sorts of ruined but it doesn’t matter. She’ll have to shower out the pink, probably. Maybe.

Katya changes her laundry to the dryer while Trixie blows her hair dry. She gets the quarters out of the washer and slots them into the dyer. They rattle down again and she sticks them back into the washer’s depository. When Trixie flips her hair back over, Katya can see her bright roots and where the pink has discolored due to bleach.

“It’s raining,” she says, looking past Katya.

And so it is. Fat drops of water darken the ground, hit the dirt and forest floor with audible thuds. Trixie ties back her newly dry hair and puts her towel over her head to run back to the bunk house.

“You coming?” she asks Katya.

“I think I’ll stay here,” Katya says. “Wait for the dryer.”

“Okay,” Trixie says.

Katya watches her run back toward the bunkhouse and then climbs up onto the washer and dryer again, this time the other direction, so her head is on the warm, rumbling dryer. She listens to her clothes below her, and the rain out the window.

oooo

Katya asks Michelle if she can do a few yoga sessions outside. The rain has cleared everything out beautifully. Now it’s not so hot and the sky is clear and blue. She wants to commune with nature, or whatever.

Alos, she’s sick of the studio, a little, and Trixie has been teaching her music classes to do choral singing this week and she hasn’t said anything but Katya knows it’s difficult when her yoga playlist is thudding through the walls.

Michelle not only likes the idea, but gives her directions for a really easy hike that will take them to a clearing with a view of the whole valley below. Katya fills her pockets with fruit and a bottle of water and skips breakfast in order to do the hike herself and check the situation out.

It is a really easy hike. Ten minutes up a gentle slope through the trees. She sits in the middle of the grassy field and looks out over the valley in the morning light. Eats her banana and her peach and drinks her water and then jogs down the hill, excited for the day.

The addition of the hike deters some of her regular sign-ups but also adds some new faces and when everyone gathers on the deck of the lodge, she realizes it’s a much older group. Lots of seventeen-year-old girls and a few of the junior counselors and just as they’re about to leave, Dela jogs up and says, “Half my cabin is here, can I come too?”

Most girls are in some variety of yoga pants or capris and tiny tank tops. A few are in big t-shirts and soft shorts. Dela is probably the most strangely dressed in boots and a long maxi skirt and a crop top, but Katya believes yoga is more about mindset than anything else and has never been in the business of policing people for their choices, especially aesthetic ones.

Katya doesn’t know Dela well, but listens to her chatter about her life outside of the camp for most of the walk. She’s another theater lover, but her experience runs the gamut from straight plays to musicals to burlesque. Katya loves burlesque, has always been interested in performing in that way, but feels she doesn’t have the body for it.

“All muscles, no rack,” Katya says wistfully.

“You’re like the most physically fit person I’ve ever met,” Dela says. “Burlesque isn’t just about body shape, you have to be in great shape to do a good show.”

She might be fit on the outside, but she’s an on-fire garbage can on in the inside. She keeps that to herself.

“What made you start doing yoga for exercise?” Dela asks.

“Oh no,” Katya says. “Physical fitness is a byproduct of yoga, a good one, but not why I do it. I do it for the meditative qualities, and because it burns off a lot of energy that I would otherwise spend frivolously.”

“It shuts up your brain,” Dela parses.

“Yup,” Katya says.

“Like Trixie,” Dela says.

“What?” Katya says. “How?”

“Not yoga,” Dela says. “But music, for her. Anyway, that’s what she told me. I like her. I hope she comes back next year.”

Katya wants to spend another four hours talking to Dela about Trixie and the little nuggets of herself that she’d given to Dela, but they’ve reached their destination and the girls are spreading out, dropping the yoga mats that they’d faithfully carried up the hill and rolling them out.

Katya will have to hose them down later, but as she looks out over the view she figures that it’s worth it.

oooo

Katya doesn’t expect mail, so it’s a cute surprise when Michelle drops a postcard in front of her one lunch. It has a picture of baked beans on it and says You don’t know BEANS until you come to BOSTON and it’s obviously an old postcard - the art is old and it’s yellowed on the back.

It’s from her mother, she recognizes the handwriting before she reads the words. It’s also written in Russian, which is… unkind, but makes Katya laugh out loud. Trixie is across the table and a seat over from her and says, “What did you get?”

Katya holds up the postcard and then shows her the back. “I speak it pretty well, but I’m not great at reading it,” she says. “Thanks, mom.”

“Okay, well what do you know? You can sound out the rest,” Trixie says. Because they’re talking across the table, the whole table settles to listen to her stumble.

“Uh, _Dear Yekaterina_ ,” Katya says. “That’s me.”

“Wait, really?” says Blair, one of the junior counselors. “So Katya is a nickname?”

“Yeah, it’s like Katie,” Katya says. “Okay, this says… _we miss you_ , I think. And then something about the dog… _sobaka_ is dog I’m sure. _Your dad sends his love_ and then something about a girl. Be a girl? That doesn’t make sense. _Khoro...khorosho_ … no, _khoroshey_.”

She stops.

 _Be a good girl_ is what her mother had said. What she’d always said whether she was going off to school or going to a party or going to bed obviously high off her gourd. It’s what her mom had said when she’d gone into rehab, what she’d said when Ginger had picked her up for camp.

She _is_ trying. Maybe no one else can see that but she is. It’s hard to do good things when the inside of you is broken.

Katya puts the card down, goes back to the omelette that Latrice had made special for her. Most of the table has gone back to their previous conversations but when she looks up again, Trixie is watching her. Katya makes herself smile at Trixie to show that she’s fine, but it lands somewhere between a smile and straight up baring her teeth.

Trixie lets it go, anyway, which is kind of her.

Katya doesn’t expect mail again, so is given another surprise when she gets a card several days later from her father. This time, thankfully, written in english. It’s a thank you card - her dad explains that’s what she’s getting because that’s what he found, and then he rambles on for four sentences about the garden growing huge zucchinis and then signs it with Peter like they’re friends and not family.

The next day, she gets a letter from her sister who talks mostly about herself and her kids. Katya can tell she’s writing under duress, that their mom had probably called and guilted Olesya into writing her screw up sister a letter.

So in the third week of camp, when Michelle sets a small box down in front of her, Katya isn’t surprised anymore and figures it’s from her brother Artem. She’s already running late - it’s her day to prep the campfire while everyone is having turtle time. So she drops the box on her bed and forgets about it.

By the time she sees it again, she’s tired and her clothes and hair smell like campfire. The girls are all in bed, but the bunkhouse is still wide awake. Everyone’s door is open and people are talking and laughing. Everyone is looking forward to the break in the middle of camp. They’ll get a couple days off. About 30 campers will stay for the gap, but people will have the chance to go down the mountain, anyway.

Katya has already volunteered to help Michelle keep an eye on the girls. Katya knows she has no business going down the mountain.

When she picks up the box, something makes her close the door. Who knows what her brother will have sent. He’s mostly academic, has been in school for as long as Katya can remember. Once he finally gets his PhD, he’ll just start teaching the classes instead of taking them. But he’s also kind of weird and might send her something that would make her laugh but that no one else would understand.

Artem is smart, Olesya is the normal one with a husband and a family, and Katya is the fuck up. That’s been their dynamic for a long, long time.

She opens the box and it takes her about five seconds to realize it’s not from Artem.

Inside is a note on a crumpled little piece of paper that says, “ _Can’t break you out, but these will help you get away - W_.”

And under that, a small baggie with several familiar looking pills.

oooo

By the time Trixie finally starts knocking on Katya’s door, the sun has come up and Katya’s whole arm is aching from clenching the baggie in her fist for hours and hours. Other than getting up to pee twice, she’s not really moved. She feels like if she looks at the pills again, she’ll do something awful.

Because she doesn’t want to take them. She doesn’t want to throw away all these weeks - months, now! - of sobriety. She doesn’t want to go back to square one, or back down the hole, or wherever she’ll end up if all she does is get high again.

But she does want to feel better. She does want to be happy, and not so scared of things.

She’s been frozen in this loop all night long. Every time she convinces herself that she can take them and no one will know (because she’s faked being sober for like, most of her adult life), she thinks of Ginger and Michelle and how she’d promised them she wouldn’t fuck up again and how literally the only thing she has left at this point is her promises. And if she breaks that, she’s got nothing left.

She thinks of Trixie, who literally goes around the country to sing songs with girls and tell them they’re special and loved.

When Trixie knocks, she jumps but doesn’t say anything. Sits just as still as she can, holds her breath. All her muscles ache from tensing.

Trixie knocks again and Katya hopes she’ll give up. _Just leave_ , Katya thinks, desperately.

But this is Katya’s life, a series of foibles and comical errors interspersed with big fuck ups. There’s no room for luck.

Trixie opens the door, sticks her head in and says, “Oh you are… why didn’t you answer. Why are you on the… are you _crying_?”

Is she? She probably is. She feels a little disconnected from herself now, her brain has finally tripped over into survival mode and she feels buzzy and vacant.

“Honey?” Trixie asks.

When Katya just gives her an exhausted dead eyed stare, Trixie turns and calls out the door, “Michelle!”

Her voice is strong, but there’s a little warble at the end that betrays her worry.

“What?” she hears Michelle yell back.

“Come here right now,” Trixie says.

Katya can hear Michelle mutter down the hall, “What, fuck, whaaat-” A whine that drops off when she must see Trixie in the doorway to Katya’s room because she says, “What?” very seriously.

The truth starts coming out the moment Katya sees Michelle because there’s something about authority figures that always gets to Katya. She needs them to love her. Like if she makes them fall in love with her before she inevitably disappoints them, it’ll all be okay.

“I’m sorry,” she says. She’s already on the floor, so she gets onto her knees and holds out her clenched fist as an offering. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Michelle looks a little confused, but she’s a smart lady so all she does is hold out her hand to take what Katya has.

Her hand is sweaty from the plastic of the baggie and is sticks to her skin for a moment before falling into Michelle’s open palm.

Michelle looks down at the pills while Katya cries into her hands.

“Katya,” Michelle says, evenly. “Did you take anything?”

Katya looks up and shakes her head.

Michelle sighs with relief and says, “Then why are you apologizing?”

“Because I wanted to,” Katya says.

Michelle rolls her eyes. “Well, duh, honey,” she says. “Where did they come from?”

“I got them in the mail from a friend,” Katya says. “I didn’t ask for them!”

“I know you didn't,” Michelle says. “Come on, get up. Get up.”

Trixie rushes forward now, helps haul Katya to her feet and then lets out a surprised noise when Katya grabs onto her tightly.

She smells so good, sweet and clean. Trixie just hugs her back.

“I’m going dispose of these,” Michelle says. “Not hide them, but get rid of them completely, so don’t bother looking for them, okay?”

Katya nods into Trixie’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you let Trixie help clean you up and then you can come see me in my office,” Michelle says. “And Katya? Good job, okay? I’m really proud of you.”

Katya just starts to cry again.

When Michelle is gone, Trixie untangles herself a little and says, “Do you want me to find Ginger?”

“No,” Katya says, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “I want her to think I’m doing a good job.”

“Well, I really don’t know the whole story here, I think, but it appears like you _are_ doing a good job.” Trixie says.

Katya sighs, realizes there’s no sense any longer in pretending to be something she’s not for Trixie.

“I just got out of rehab,” she says. “Michelle let me come to the camp to work off community service hours.”

Trixie is quiet for a moment, considering this, and then says, “So you don’t really teach yoga?”

“I do teach yoga,” Katya says. “And am an addict. I can do two things!”

Trixie laughs, a little scream and says, “Sorry, god!”

“I… probably should have told you,” Katya says.

“You barely know me,” Trixie counters. “I don’t like, blab my whole life in the first ten minutes of meeting someone either. Everyone carries around bad shit, Katya. Even me. So don’t feel like you let me down, okay?”

Katya nods.

“But I also don’t want you to feel like you can't ask me for help,” Trixie says. “So if some assface sends you another bomb, at least knock on my door next time. No one should have to be afraid all night alone.”

“Noted,” whispers Katya.

“I want to get something, hang on,” Trixie says. She darts across the hall and comes back a few moments later holding a baby pink instant camera. “Can we take a selfie?”

“Fuck you,” Katya says automatically. She knows how she must look.

“I’m serious,” Trixie says. “I only bring this camera to camp and I only take pictures when someone has done something really extraordinary and I want to remember it. You faced down your biggest demon last night and that’s fully badass.”

It’s hard to say no to Trixie so she nods.

“You don’t have to smile,” Trixie promises. She comes up to Katya, extends her long arm holding the camera. “Ready?”

Katya nods, stares into the dark lense of the camera. She doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t try to look sad. She tries to look how she feels, which is now a little bit brave.

Trixie snaps the pictures and the camera makes noise before spitting out a picture. They sit on the edge of Katya’s bed and wait for it to develop.

Katya watches herself appear and she looks tired and old but not, in fact, defeated. Next to her is Trixie who is looking not at the camera, but at Katya. She’s got a small smile on her face and is looking at Katya with obvious fondness.

“Perfect,” Trixie says. “Best one yet.”

oooo

Trixie waits for Katya to shower and then walks her to the lodge and drops her off with Michelle.

Katya sits in the chair across from Michelle, the desk between them.

“Did you get something to eat?” Michelle asks, not unkindly.

“Yes, Trixie had Latrice bring me something,” Katya says.

“Good,” Michelle says. “So, I wanted to give you the opportunity to call your family, if you want, and your therapist.”

“It’s not Sunday,” Katya says.

“Yeah, but I called ahead and arranged an appointment for you,” Michelle says.

“Oh,” Katya says softly.

“Honey,” Michelle says. “You’re not the first person ever to climb this mountain, ya know.”

“Oh,” Katya says again, with more understanding. “That’s why you said yes to me coming here.”

“I said yes because the owner of this camp wanted to add yoga,” Michelle says. “But also, because I believe in recovery and also the power that summer camp has to heal people.”

“Yeah,” Katya says. “This place is pretty great.”

“So call your shrink, call your mom if you want, and then get some rest. You can start fresh tomorrow.”

She pats Katya’s shoulder as she leaves and closes the door behind her.

The talk with her therapist goes good. Katya gets to tell him that she knows the answer to what would happen if she were presented with an opportunity to do drugs.

She’d absolutely flip her shit, but she’d say no.

“Hey,” he says. “Maybe have Michelle pre-open your mail if that helps you to feel a little safer.”

“People can’t pre-open my mail forever, Tony,” she says.

“That’s true,” he says. “But when people offer you help, there’s no shame in taking it.”

She doesn’t call her mom. She just doesn’t want to tell her the truth, doesn’t want to lie to her.

She sees a few girls as she makes her way back to the bunkhouse, and a couple say, “No yoga today?”

“I got the runs,” she says. “Very contagious!” and they shriek and run away. Everyone knows by now that Katya will say weird things but yoga remains one of the few workshops that fills every time.

Go figure.

The fatigue really hits when she sees her bed and she crawls into it, passes out hard.

She sleeps through lunch and only wakes up with the dinner bell.

Rolls over and sleeps through the evening, too.

oooo

Trixie braids Katya’s hair before breakfast. Maybe Trixie knows Katya is still feeling fragile, maybe Trixie feels like she’s should stay close to Katya just to make sure she doesn’t disappear into the woods forever.

I mean, it’s a tempting thought to just lie down on a bed of pine needles and wait to die, but Katya’s pretty sure she’d get bored before it was over.

Katya’s hair is substantially shorter than Trixie’s, but there’s still a lot of it and Trixie only has to start one side over once.

“Oh, bitch, that’s so cute,” Trixie says when she’s done and goes around to admire her work. “Wear something cute. Do you have something cute? Okay, borrow something cute from me.”

“I have… cute,” Katya says. “Well, maybe.”

She’d brought one skirt - it was camp, who brought skirts to camp? Trixie, that’s who - a red, corduroy one and she pairs it with her black crop top and shows it Trixie for approval.

“Well,” Trixie says looking her up and down. “I think you overshot and landed on hot, but I’m not complaining.”

Katya flails around, with excitement. “You think I’m hot? Really?”

“Yes, of course, you dumb bitch, I’ve been flirting with you for weeks and you haven’t even noticed, I hate you so much,” Trixie says, stomping her foot.

Katya stops, surprised. “What?”

“I guess I’m bad at it,” Trixie says, sticking her tongue out. “Come on, we’re going to be late for breakfast.” She picks up her guitar and swings it around to carry on her back for the walk to the mess hall. They really are going to be late, they’re the last people in the bunkhouse and when they leave, even the camp looks deserted. Katya can see one girl distantly ahead of them, jogging toward breakfast.

“Are you… are you a big lesbian, Trixie Mattel?” Katya demands, having to work to keep up with Trixie who is hurrying with much longer legs.

“Duh,” Trixie says.

“What?” Katya demands. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“I did!” Trixie says. “Right?”

“No, you flaming bitch!” Katya says.

“I’m sure I did,” Trixie says. “Like, in my head I did it for sure.”

“Jesus,” Katya says. “And here I’ve been feeling like a lecherous gay watching you creepily.”

They’re close enough to the mess hall to see that no one is waiting outside.

“I’d love to talk about this more, but I’m supposed to lead the breakfast song,” Trixie says and breaks into a jog, leaving Katya behind.

She stares after her.

“Like,” she says, helplessly to herself. “That’s a game changer.”


	6. Chapter 6

_"Like the freckles, it made her – not unremarkable, as I had feared to find her; but marvellously, achingly real. Hearing it, I understood at last my wildness of the past seven days. I thought, how queer it is! —and yet, how very ordinary: I am in love with you."_

**Tipping the Velvet - Sarah Waters**

*

Katya is sad and happy about reaching the midpoint of camp in equal measure. Camp is a long haul, it’s a lot of having to always be available and on for the girls, perpetually cheery and warm. But she’s gotten to know a lot of the girls pretty well now and is sad that a lot of them will be leaving and she’ll have to start over with a new group. 

Except for the thirty or so who stay on. That group consists of all of the kids who are attending on scholarship and the really wealthy kids - kids who have families that can afford eight weeks of this kind of all-inclusive camp and who need their kids to go somewhere so they can take their yacht to Saint-Tropez, or whatever. One of the girl’s dad is an ambassador and is never home. That kind of rich. 

There’s a three day gap where it’s just the counselors and the smaller group. For the counselors who live close enough to drive, many of them take off for the whole three days. Adore, Alyssa, Sharon, and Kasha all get into Alyssa’s car and take off the moment they’re allowed to - Adore sticks her head out of the window and yells, “Bye biiiitch!” as they disappear through the gates. 

Katya, of course, has nowhere to go and is happy that Trixie decides to stay, too. Things between them have shifted a little, not in a bad way, but there’s always some discomfort in change. Their careful friendship has given way to make room for something else. Sometimes when they’re walking somewhere, Trixie will let her hand brush against Katya’s and they both know it’s not an accident. 

Their morning coffee is different now, too. Trixie doesn’t wait for Katya to finish her morning yoga on the bunkhouse steps, instead, she sits right on the concrete slab next to Katya, the two mugs at her side. Katya rushes through her poses, is not quite as graceful knowing Trixie is watching her. Even if Katya glances over and sees that Trixie is watching the sky gradually change from dawn to day, Katya knows she’s looking at her, too. 

But Katya is damaged and though she’s on the road to repair, she’s certainly in no place to have very much to offer another person. She tried to explain this to Trixie one evening in halting, broken sentences, and Trixie had understood. “Take your time, soldier,” she’d said. 

Katya wishes she still just wanted to sleep with Trixie, but Trixie isn’t like anyone else she’s met before. Katya has slept with her fair share of vapid, pretty girls that she never wants to see again, but she wants to see Trixie every day. So much so that the looming end of camp is already filling her with anxiety. 

Still, Trixie offers Katya proximity without pressure and Katya is grateful for it. 

For the break between camps, the remaining girls crowd into three cabins. Katya is given Primrose, Ginger keeps Hyacinth, and Trixie takes Magnolia. The girls grumble about having to move their stuff, the ones who aren’t lucky enough to get to stay in the cabin they started with, but it’s more fun to be together. 

While it’s a break for some, Michelle seems to work harder than ever. It’s a difficult reset - to start over while not invalidating or repeating the weeks that the girls who are still here have experienced. She and Latrice go down the mountain on a big supply run and leave Ginger in charge. Courtney stays on so girls can swim, Katya agrees to stay in the lodge and facilitate things there. Trixie goes off to help Shangela in the kitchen. It’s not quite as big as a job with less mouths to feed, but things always go better with an extra set of hands. 

Most of the girls go down to the water, but four come to the lodge and are perfectly content to sit on the sofas and make friendship bracelets while they gossip. Katya plugs in her phone for music, but no one can agree on what to listen to because Katya’s collection is so weird and largely foreign. She likes to sing in other languages, likes to lipsync in the mirror like she’s a dying French swan or an angry Russian prostitute. 

One of the girls, Chelsea, finishes her bracelet, a thin band of red and black and says, “This is for you, Katya.” 

Katya lets Chelsea tie it onto her wrist and gives her a hug. “Thanks, kid,” she says. 

Lunch is intimate - Katya helps Trixie push some tables together and the kids sit around one big table and the adults around another. Instead of making them walk the buffet, Shangela sets everything up family style. Katya watches the scholarship kids pile their plates high. One of her favorite things about this summer has been watching those kids fill out a little with regular meals. She’s been filling out a little, too, because she’s been eating regularly and exercising so much. She’s still slim at fit, but she’s more muscular and she’s lost the gaunt look in her skin and eyes. 

She hopes her family will be proud when they see her - well fed, sober, decked out in jewelry made for her by teen girls. 

Trixie sits next to her at lunch, their knees bump under the table a bunch of times. Not that Katya counts or anything. 

“Let’s do a movie,” Trixie says when they’re finished with lunch. It’s too hot to do anything else, really. Even indoors is warm. There’s no air conditioning - it’s _camp_ \- but at least they can turn all the overhead lights on and set up the fans to blow around the still air. 

“What do we have?” Katya asks.

“There’s a bunch in the library,” Ginger says. “Usually we pick two and let the kids vote.”

Instead of turtle time, the girls grab their sleeping bags and pillows from their cabins and pile into the lodge. There’s a projector and a big screen that comes down from the ceiling. Katya goes around and pulls all the blinds and turns on all the fans. Ginger and Trixie come out with two movies - Toy Story 2 and The Goonies and when they vote it’s about half and half. 

Finally, one of the girls says “Can’t we just watch both?”

“Sure,” Ginger says, relieved. They start with The Goonies. The girls seem perfectly happy to sit and giggle and whisper the afternoon away, but thirty minutes into their tiny marathon, Katya gets bored.

Ginger takes care of it, bringing her a roll of white paper and the tub of paints and brushes.

“Every Cabin is gonna get new girls and they all need a new banner,” Ginger says. “And everyone was jealous of Hyacinth's because it looked so good.”

“You want me to paint banners for all ten?” Katya asks.

“I’ll help,” Trixie says. 

So they set up at the back of the room. Trixie does help - she helps measure and cut the long pieces of butcher paper, finds paper plates for the paint and a cup for water. And she knows all the different kinds of flowers. Katya can’t google what they look like, so when she says, “Wait, what does a Magnolia even look like?”

Trixie answers, “They grow on a tree. They’re usually white, some have pink in the middle. Big petals.” Katya sketches on the back of the paper plate and Trixie says, “No, pointier,” or “Wider here,” until it looks right. “Magnolias get used in bridal bouquets a lot. I’ve been a bridesmaid like seven times.” 

Trixie even knows the secret meanings of all the flowers. She knows that poppies are used a lot in funeral arrangements because they symbolize loss and death. She knows that primrose is a flower you give someone who just had a baby and peonies are bashful flowers and symbolize romance and compassion. And what of Marigolds, Katya asks. She’s made a little wheel on the back of her plate with all ten cabins and the sketches of flowers so they don’t miss anything.

“Cruelty,” Trixie says softly. “Jealousy and grief.” 

Katya looks up at her, studies her face as Trixie looks down at the sketches. Her long lashes, her flushed cheeks, the curly tendrils of hair around her face. 

“You sure know a lot about flowers,” Katya says. “You’re so, um… interesting?” 

“My aunt is a florist,” Trixie admits. “I used to work in her shop when I was in high school.” 

“Oh my god, of course you did,” Katya says. “And the whole town was in love with you.”

“Hardly,” Trixie says. “I had dishwater hair, no money, and was heavier than I am now.” 

“Skinny doesn’t mean pretty,” Katya says. “Or at least I’ve never thought so.” She’s looking down at her plate, sketching what she thinks a marigold looks like before realizing that she’s drawing mums, the flowers her mother puts on the porch every fall in little pots. 

When she looks up, Trixie is looking at her very intently, her brown eyes so dark it’s hard to tell where the pupil ends and the iris begins. 

“What?” Katya says. 

Trixie is sitting in a folding chair on the other side of the table but Katya can see her squirm all the same. 

She doesn’t answer Katya’s question, but she doesn’t need to. Katya smiles slowly, tilts her head. 

“Now, now,” she says. “It’s too soon for all that, don’t you think?”

Trixie makes an impatient noise in the back of her throat that she tries to stifle, but Katya hears it anyway. It makes her small smile blossom into a grin. 

“We have _cabins_ ,” Katya reminds her. “No time to ourselves. We have to wait until the next session starts, don’t you think?” She lowers her voice. “Before you come sneaking into my room at night?”

Trixie’s chair screeches as she pushes it back and several heads turn to look at them. Trixie walks right out of the lodge, the door clanging shut behind her. 

She’s gone for long enough that Katya starts the lettering on the first sign - gets through _Marigo_ before Trixie comes back in looking the same, except for she’s got a cold bottle of water that she’s holding against the back of her neck. She’d walked all the way to the mess hall and back. 

She’d walked off whatever snit she’d gotten herself into, though, because she leans over Katya and looks at her plate. 

“That’s a chrysanthemum, not a marigold,” she says. 

oooo

Katya’s got the scholarship cabin. It’s not that they segregate them or anything, it’s just that they all make friends with each other and so when they had to combine, they all wanted to be together and they all wanted Katya. 

Katya is broke, but she’s not poor and it’s a significant difference she realizes as she listens to the girls talk. Katya always has a safety net to fall back on - her family had bailed her out of jail, had sent her to rehab, had paid her court fees, had taken her in when her landlord had evicted her. Katya is an expensive disaster. Probably, Katya is single handedly responsible for her parents being middle class and not upper middle class. 

And she’ll never be able to pay them back, she knows this. She’s got what, a fine art degree and a job that isn’t paying her? Her résumé is a broken string of food service and retail jobs that ended in her working in a cabaret in Boston as a cocktail waitress while she watched drag shows and gave blow jobs in the alley for cocaine.

Not her finest hour but then, what wouldn’t she do for drugs? Katya has learned that the list of things she wouldn’t do could fit on a matchbook. 

But these girls come from poverty. They go to bad schools, they’re always hungry, they share their bedrooms and never have space to themselves. 

“Hey,” Katya asks. Everyone is in their bunks but she hasn’t enforced lights out yet. “How did you get your scholarships?”

“To camp?” asks Evie. She’s fifteen, tall and gangly now but Katya can tell in a year or so she’ll fill out and be insanely beautiful. Beautiful enough to get out of a shitty town, if she wants. 

“Yeah,” Katya says. 

“The essay contest,” Evie says, like Katya knows what that means. 

Katya just shakes her head. 

“Ru’s essay contest?” says Jenny from the bunk below Evie. 

“What’s a Ru?” Katya asks.

“Okay, the person who owns Camp Meadowlark has an essay contest every year, it’s national and ten kids get to come here on scholarship,” Evie says. “How do you work here and know nothing about the camp?”

“Oh well, not knowing what I’m doing is actually my specialty,” Katya says. “I just like, hitched a ride here.” 

The girls laugh.

“So Michelle doesn’t own the camp?” Katya realizes.

“Michelle runs it,” Jenny says. “But Ru built it and stuff. She never comes here, though. She’s like… um… mysterious, I guess.” 

“Huh,” Katya says. She’ll have to ask Ginger more about it. Ginger will know, surely. Or Trixie who is like a summer camp super fan. “Lights out, you guys ready?”

The girls all murmur yes. Katya can reach the light switch from her bed and she shuts it off. 

She thinks of Trixie as she listens to the girls fall asleep. The rustle of their sleeping bags, thier sighs, the one girl who flips her retainer in her mouth all the time. But an hour later, everyone is asleep. Katya is closest to the door so it’s easy to get up, step into her black flip flops and sneak outside. 

She pulls her cigarettes and a lighter out of her pocket. She’s been smoking so much less, but being in the cabin instead of the bunkhouse makes her nervous and she knows a cigarette will help her fall asleep more easily. 

She thinks about Trixie while she smokes, looks toward where her cabin is but everything around her is dark. She thinks about Trixie’s dark eyes, how they’d spent all afternoon painting flowers together, how at campfire, Trixie had sung so beautifully in the intimate circle. 

She’d sang a lot of fun sing-along songs, but before the lullaby she’d sang a song to them, not for them.

“ _I am a sturdy soul, and there ain’t no shame in lying down in the bed you made - can you fight the urge to run for another day?_ ”

It’s silly to feel like Trixie had been singing right to her, but she can’t shake the haunting sound of the song. 

What would she do if Trixie were here now, sitting next to her on the railing of the cabin’s small deck? Katya knows already. She’d stub out her cigarette, take Trixie’s face in her hands, and kiss her. 

A part of her is frustrated after a full month of pining, but she’s more excited than anything else. Kissing Trixie is something to look forward to. It’s a reason to stay sober and happy and herself. 

With that thought, she puts herself to bed.

oooo

Dela is back at breakfast, holding a white Starbucks cup. Everyone is as excited to see that dumb green mermaid as they are to see Dela. After all it’s only been one night.

“Couldn’t stay away?” Courtney asks as Dela slips into a vacant chair at the staff table. 

“Eh,” Dela says. “It’s good to get back to society to run some errands, but I don’t like to break the camp spell. The more time away, the harder it is to get back into the groove when we start again.” 

That makes sense to Katya, actually. And she’d gone into this experience with the mindset that eight weeks of camp was going to be like serving time, but actually it’s lovely and she already dreads real life. Why can’t real life be a forest full of trees and girls and strummy guitar songs around a fire every night?

After all, isn’t that what Trixie chases, too?

Breakfast is fluffy scrambled eggs and trays of bacon, toast and hashbrowns too. Michelle and Latrice had returned late last night and now it’s Shangela who has disappeared down the mountain for her two days off. Katya happily turns over supervision of cabin to Dela in order to spend the day helping Latrice in the kitchen. It seems like a great idea until everyone heads back toward the lodge and Katya watches Trixie and Dela walk arm in arm down the dusty path and out of her sight. 

Still, Katya loves Latrice. Latrice talks about their trip down the mountain while they clean up from breakfast, Katya talks about what she and Michelle missed while they put away all the dry goods from the shopping trip yesterday. By the time they’re done, it’s time to start prepping for lunch. Katya gets Latrice talking about herself. Like Trixie, Latrice is from California but is quick to correct Katya in the assumption that Compton is anything like the glittering Hollywood life shown in movies and on TV. Instead, she moves from job to job in restaurant kitchens but she knows she always has this steady summer job, thanks to Michelle. There’s some comfort in knowing that not everyone here has a rosy life.

Latrice laughs at Katya when she says that and replies, “Honey, no one does.” 

Latrice puts on some music - motown, which Katya loves - and Katya spends time cutting potatoes in wedges for fries to go with the BLTs. 

“Bacon twice?” Katya asks. 

“Just usin’ up the bacon from this morning,” Latrice says with a wink.

When people start showing up for lunch, it’s with painted faces. Apparently Dela is a pretty good artist and Trixie is great at makeup, so they’d set up a face painting station. Girls have glittery butterflies across their cheeks, rainbows, flowers up and down their arms. Trixie has on a flower crown around her pretty pink head. Fake flowers, but still lovely. She has on a flowy floral dress and looks like a glittery, gay angel.

“What did I miss?” Katya asks through the serving window when Trixie comes up to ask for a bottle of water.

“Oh nothing,” Trixie says. “We just had a fairy princess party.”

“Well I cut potatoes,” Katya says, sticking out her tongue. “It was awesome.” 

oooo

Katya has a yoga class after lunch because she misses it mostly. They don’t make anyone sign up for anything after turtle time, but Katya announces it at lunch just the same. It feels good to get into stretchy clothes. All her clothes are still in the bunkhouse and when she comes out of her room, Trixie is on the back steps already in leggings and a t-shirt.

She’s holding her phone, which is weird to see after a month of no one having very much technology.

“Can I come to your class?” she asks.

“Of course,” Katya says.

“I made a mix, can we do yoga to my mix?” Trixie asks.

From anyone else, the request would bother her. She’d tell them to get fucking lost. But this is Trixie.

“Sure,” Katya says. 

Katya sweeps the floor of her yoga room while Trixie fiddles with connecting her phone to the speakers. Katya will be fine if no one else comes to the class, but a few girls do show up, as does, surprisingly, Michelle. 

Michelle oversees things, but Katya rarely sees her actively participate in whatever is going on. She has on purple yoga pants and a loose tank top over a tight sports bra that’s working hard to keep her ladies strapped in. Everyone rolls out mats and Trixie starts her playlist. Katya is concerned that it’s all going to be strummy folk music or Dolly Parton with an autoharp, which is fine but not great to exercise too, but the first song is an angry sounding Rilo Kiley song and then that transitions into an upbeat Tegan and Sara song and when Cyndi Lauper follows that, Michelle screams “Yes!” and snaps into the air in the middle of her tree pose. 

Never doubt Trixie, is the lesson here. 

Katya feels a lot better after yoga, more centered, not so out of sorts over missing a fairy princess party when she was having a perfectly nice time with Latrice. It’s good to remember that people get to have a life outside of Katya and that Katya gets to enjoy her life even when other things are happening without her. 

Maybe yoga can be her summer camp. Maybe she can go from state to state, working at different yoga studios to try to find the perfect one for her. Or she can find the right place to start her own studio. Maybe when Trixie starts her own camp, she’ll want a live-in yogi. 

Sunday morning, when she talks to her therapist, she tells him these thoughts haltingly. Like, she knows it’s stupid to make ridiculous plans like that - so unrealistic, but she never usually wants to make plans at all, especially far out ones. 

“Well, when you successfully complete your community service, that fulfills the terms of your probation, Katya,” he reminds her. “There’s no reason you couldn’t try somewhere new. Maybe getting out of Boston would be good for you.”

Katya depends so much on her family, but Boston is also full of the old scene that had undone her. The cabaret, her drugged up friends. People who claim to love her but then send her drugs at summer camp. 

When she gets off the call with her therapist, when she’s done with her probation officer, she does something she hasn’t done since she arrived at Camp Meadowlark. She calls her family. Specifically Artem. 

Artem is the sibling she’s closest to, he often let her crash on his sofa when she couldn’t face another night at her parents house.

He answers and she blurts out, “Did you give Willam the camp address?”

There’s a pause and then, “Katya?”

“Hi, sorry, hi, but I’m serious, did you tell Willam where I was?”

“Uh,” Artem says. Katya looks at the time and realizes it’s not even ten o’clock and she’d woken him up. “He said he wanted to send you a care package, that he felt bad how everything had gone down.”

“You dumb fucking idiot, he sent me _drugs_ ,” Katya hisses. 

“Oh shit, sorry,” Artem says. 

“If you want me to get better, stop telling other addicts where I am,” Katya says. “Like, shit is hard enough already.”

“Okay, Jesus, I said I was sorry,” he says. 

“Tell mom and dad I said hi,” she says, and then slams the phone back down. “Asshole,” she mutters. 

By that evening, everyone is back - counselors back in their cabins, Katya back in her bunkhouse bed. Katya had laid out all of the new flower banners and all the counselors had written the names of their new campers on them and then hung them up before campfire. Michelle had surprised everyone with s’mores and they’d eaten their sweet treats and listened to Trixie strum pretty melodies on her guitar and it felt like a great evening, gave the first session closure and prepared them for a new group in the morning. Katya is certainly looking forward to her regular routine. 

After the girls go to bed, Katya leaves Michelle and Raven to put out the fire and goes back to the bunkhouse feeling full and warm. When she gets into her room, Trixie is sitting on her bed.

“Hello,” Katya says. 

“Hello,” Trixie says. “Say, after the lullaby, do you want to take a walk with me?”

“You mean sneak out after lights out?” Katya says, feigning scandal, her hand against her chest.

“I do mean that,” Trixie says. 

“Okay,” Katya says. “I’m in.” She grins.

She’s not exactly sure where they can walk to in the pitch black of the campground after dark, but Katya’s game all the same. It seems to take forever for lights out to come. Katya changes into comfortable, loose clothes - navy sweatpants and she takes off her bra under her t-shirt, but adds on her gray hoodie over it. She takes her makeup off, brushes her teeth. 

Trixie plays a melodic, sleepy version of Skinny Love as their lullaby. Katya leans against her door frame with her eyes closed, listens to Trixie croon “ _Cut all of the ropes and let me fall_ ” and when they all say goodnight and close their doors, Katya makes sure not to latch hers. 

It’s agony, the twenty minutes Katya waits, sitting on her bed in the dark listening hard for Trixie on the other side of the door. And when Trixie finally comes, Katya worries that she’s dreaming it. But no, there she is with a little flashlight, still in her floral dress but with a clean face and a sweater on. 

Katya tries to be quiet but feels like opening the backdoor is the loudest thing she’s ever done. She reassures herself that people must hear her sneak out the backdoor all the time because she’s always going for one last smoke. This time, they creep down the steps in the dim light of Trixie’s tiny flashlight. Katya follows Trixie to the far side of the shower house and then she stops when they’re against the wall. 

“This is our walk?” Katya asks.

Trixie clicks off the flashlight and must pocket it, because then Katya feels both her hands on Katya’s hands. Trixie steps in, pulls Katya’s hands around her waist. 

“Kiss me,” she whispers. 

Just looking at Trixie always feels like the first time. That pang of desire that overwhelmed her, made her stare at herself in the bathroom mirror in agony. But hearing Trixie say that sends her spinning so fast that she’s afraid she’s gonna fly off the planet entirely, gravity be damned. 

Trixie’s lips are soft, sweet. Katya slides her hands up Trixie’s curves to hold her face. She’s tentative at first, despite Katya giving her what she’d asked for, but when she makes a soft sigh into Katya’s mouth, Katya gets fed up with tentative. She spins them so Trixie’s back is against the wall and starts kissing her soundly.

She could stand here all night doing this. Trixie’s tongue in her mouth, her hair in Katya’s hands. Trixie has Katya’s sweatshirt clenched in her hands and is just hanging on for the ride. Trixie whimpers when Katya drags her lips along Trixie’s jaw, moans when Katya captures her earlobe between her teeth. 

They kiss and kiss until Katya realizes Trixie is sliding down the wall a little, so she pulls back. 

“Jelly legs?” Katya whispers. Her lips are tingling, they’ve gone a little numb. She wants to drag Trixie down to the ground and stick her head up Trixie’s dress, but even she, the queen of bad decisions, knows that isn’t a good idea. Because for some reason, Katya wants Trixie to be more than a passing fancy. She doesn’t know how it could possibly work, but she wants Trixie in her life for as long as possible. And long time romances don’t start with dirty, sloppy groping outside a shower house. 

Trixie doesn’t reply, just makes a dazed sort of humming sound. 

“Come on,” Katya says. “It’s past our bedtime.” 

If the beds in the bunkhouse were even a few inches wider, Katya would happily crawl into Trixie’s with her, but maybe it’s better this way. They stumble a little on the way back over uneven ground but Trixie doesn’t pull out her flashlight again, and anyway, their eyes have adjusted to the light from the moon and the billions of stars that twinkle above them. 

Katya eases open the backdoor to let Trixie in, but she hesitates when Katya doesn’t immediately follow. 

“I’m gonna smoke,” Katya says. 

Trixie nods, leans in and drops a peck on Katya’s cheek. 

Katya does smoke, lights the cigarette and then watches the glowing end of it shake in her trembling hands.


	7. Chapter 7

_"As lovers' vows go, this one was, I suppose, rather curious; but we were girls with curious histories - girls with pasts like boxes with ill-fitting lids. We must bear them, but bear them carefully."_

**Tipping the Velvet - Sarah Waters**

*

Leighanne Fitzhugh makes it three days into camp before she breaks her ankle tripping over a rock while playing a surprisingly aggressive game of badminton. 

Trixie is weirdly calm about the entire incident, explains that someone always gets hurt during such a long stretch of camp and that she’s surprised no one had yet.

“What about Hannah, she cut her hand,” Katya reminds Trixie who just rolls her eyes. 

“One stitch is not serious,” Trixie says. “I was at a camp once where a boy cut off the tip of his finger accidentally.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Katya says. 

An ambulance has to come up to the camp and take her down the mountain. Michelle rides down with her, puts Ginger in charge and in turn, Courtney volunteers to take over her cabin duties until Michelle gets back. Ginger has the unfortunate job of calling Leighanne’s parents, packing up her things, and issuing them a partial refund. 

“I have to call Ru,” Ginger says, looking a little pale as she turns to go. “Pray for me.” 

“Oh, that reminds me,” Katya says after they watch her shuffle sadly away. “The scholarship girls were telling me a little about… do you know anything about Ru?”

“I’ve never met her,” Trixie says. “But she’s like, wealthy. She also owns a theater, I think, in the city? She does a lot of philanthropy. I knew she owned the camp, I guess. She signs the paychecks, too.” 

“Ah yes,” Katya says. “Of course. Our paychecks.” 

“Right, sorry,” Trixie says. “I… sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Katya says. She’d do this for free, actually, she’s realized. If they asked her back and still didn’t pay her, she’d do it. Especially with Trixie at her side. 

“Anyway,” Trixie says. “We gotta do something nice for this group.”

She’s talking about the group of girls who were playing badminton with Leighanne, who are now sitting around a wooden picnic table, looking shell shocked. A broken ankle is an unpleasant thing to witness. 

“Hey,” Katya says. “Come on. Let’s go to the mess hall.”

“It’s too early for lunch,” says Serenity, looking at her apple watch that barely functions up here. Rich kids are weird. 

“We’re going to ruin our lunch,” Katya says. “I saw ice cream sandwich, come on, move it or lose it.” 

The girls do perk up at this, follow them to the mess hall. Latrice and Shangela are both there working on lunch - a taco bar. 

“You’re early for KP, children,” Latrice says, eyeing Katya warily.

“Listen, mama, listen,” Katya says. “These beautiful young women here just survived a _trauma_ and they deserve a treat for the way they came to their sister’s aide in a time of great peril.” 

“One of the girls broke her foot, there was an ambulance, it was a whole thing,” Trixie says from behind her sounding just slightly bored. The girls all nod.

“She cried!”

“I heard the bone go crack!”

“She was such a klutz!” 

“Okay, okay, I got some otter pops back here I think,” Latrice.

“Otter pops?” Katya demands. “Otter pops are for boo boos. We lost a soldier, today, Latrice. We need ice cream sandwiches.” 

Latrice stares Katya down, unamused. 

“You bought an extra box, I know you did, girl,” Shangela says. 

“Fine,” Latrice gives in. “But don’t go squawking around about it.”

The girls cheer. 

Latrice glares at Shangela as she goes to retrieve them, but Shangela just winks at everyone. 

They sit out on the dry, patchy grass in front of the mess hall in the sunshine and try to eat their ice cream sandwiches faster than they melt. Katya has to lick a drip of vanilla ice cream off her wrist, and her whole mouth feels sticky, but it's worth it. 

Trixie collects all the wrappers like a mother hen, and then sends the girls off to go do whatever they want before lunch. 

“Maybe no sports,” Katya calls as they disappear down the dirt road. 

There’s no sense in both of them walking back toward camp, though, since they have nowhere specific to be and lunch isn’t so very far off. So instead they just hang out on the small bench in front of the mess hall, in the shade provided by the overhang. They sit close enough that their legs touch.

“You know,” Trixie says. “You’re really good with kids.”

“Unhhhh,” Katya says and snorts in disbelief. “They think I’m a weirdo.”

“They _like_ you,” Trixie says. “And do you know why? Because you don’t pretend to be something you’re not and instead of talking down to them, you talk to them like they’re regular people.”

“Children are people,” Katya says. “Right? Everyone is just people.” 

“Oh, I agree, fully,” Trixie says. “But other people usually talk to kids like they’re half-baked morons.” 

“Huh,” Katya says, squinting out at the bright day and the trees. “I don’t really hang out with kids. My sister has kids but my sister stopped inviting me to stuff because I was always high and ruined every gathering. We were both happier that way, frankly.”

“And you have a brother, too?” Trixie says. Katya likes that Trixie doesn’t try to make her feel better with false platitudes or tell her that things are okay when they aren’t. 

“Artem,” Katya says. “An academic. Not the good kind that’s going to make a new theory or help society. The kind that got to school and forgot to learn how to do anything other than be in a school.” She makes a face. “Why am I such a bitch?”

“You don’t have to be a nice person, you just have to be a good person, that’s my motto.” Trixie grins. “A bitch is fine as long as you aren’t like, an evil cunt.” 

“Fine lines, Trixie Mattel,” Katya says, laughing. “What about you? Siblings?"

“Yep,” she says. “I’m the oldest.” 

She clams up a little, looks down into her lap. Trixie doesn’t like talking about family, Katya notes. So she lets it go. She wants to know everything, but not if it makes Trixie feel bad.

“You said you have one more camp after this?” Katya asks. “Where is it?

“Now, I usually don’t… do a triple, especially after such a long stretch,” Trixie prefaces. “But I guess a counselor dropped out and I’m friends with the director, so I agreed to fill in. It’s in Cape Cod? I’ve never been there.” 

Katya sits up. “You’re going to Massachusetts?” 

“Yeah,” Trixie says. She twirls a piece of pink hair and tilts her head. “You’re from there, right, Katya?”

Trixie’s not dumb, Katya can see it’s an act. 

“In fact, I am,” Katya says. “What a fucking god damn coincidence.”

“Hmm, it would be nice to have someone who knows where they’re going for the drive over,” Trixie says. “Do you know anyone going that way?”

“Yeah, Ginger,” Katya says and Trixie does her screaming little laugh, reaches out to swat at Katya. 

“I mean, we don’t have to like… make plans or anything,” Trixie says, sounding more like herself, more serious.

“I don’t hate plans,” Katya says. “If you still can stand me, I’d be happy to bum a ride and point you which way is east.” 

Trixie smiles, soft and slow and the heat creeps up Katya’s neck, the one that makes her want to lean in and jam her tongue into Trixie’s mouth, to run her hands over any curve she can find. Suddenly her mouth feels dry and she swallows. Says, “Trixie, I… you’re so… I just want so badly to-”

“Me too,” Trixie says and reaches out to put her hand on Katya’s knee. 

Katya leans in swiftly, catches her lips. Kisses her one second, two, three and then pulls away. 

There’s Shanglea and Latrice in the mess hall who could see them easy enough and as if on cue, Primrose cabin starts coming up the road, Alyssa talking loudly with them, making grand gestures with her arms. 

Trixie looks back into her lap, color high on her cheeks.

oooo

“Capture the flag is serious,” Michelle says at their early morning staff meeting on Saturday. Katya had slept poorly, spending most of the night hours alternating between smoking cigarettes, imagining Trixie in illicit positions and sticking her hand down her own pajama pants. 

Yeah, sure, she should have slept, but she can’t drink or do drugs anymore, so one night of chain smoking and masturbation isn’t really all that bad, if you think about it. Considering. Right?

Anyway.

Now they’re all on the lodge deck and Katya is slumped against the railing, her head resting in the crook of her own arm. She keeps closing her eyes for just a second and then waking up to Bianca’s elbow in her side. 

“Hey comrade, you’re snoring,” Bianca says. 

“You okay, Katya?” Michelle asks.

“Um, just a headache,” Katya lies. “Kept me up.” 

“You wanna sit this one out?” Michelle asks. “We have plenty of coverage.”

“Oh,” Katya says, surprised. She didn’t know that was an option. Does she want to lie in her bed all day or does she want to watch a huge group of girls wage pretend war on each other - not a hard choice. “Yeah, if you don’t mind.” 

Michelle waves at her so she gets up, heads back toward the bunkhouse. She looks over her shoulder, sees Trixie watching her leave. 

She does crash out for a few hours. She sleeps through breakfast and through the morning session. The game doesn’t start until after turtle time, but they’ve broken up the group into two large teams and the teams spend the morning doing team building exercises so that by the time the afternoon game starts, they’ll be bonded together. Something about it must work, because when she shuffles down to lunch still in her little cotton sleep shorts and a black tank top, the two teams have already separated themselves in the mess hall. Half the room has bright yellow bandanas, the other half has bright green and they’re all staring at each other suspiciously, a few shit talking loudly across the room. 

There’s an empty chair next to Trixie, so Katya fills up her plate and sits down.

“Is it a good idea to pit them against each other? Does that promote sisterhood?” Katya asks.

“Oh, tomorrow they’ll totally forget about it,” Trixie says. “The winning team will gloat tonight but tomorrow will be business as usual.” 

“I like camp, but this is a weird culture,” Katya says. 

“Capture the flag day is not my favorite day, I’ll admit, but I only have to help monitor the boundaries so I can’t complain,” Trixie says. “How’s the headache?”

“Oh, better,” Katya says. “I slept.” She doesn’t quite meet Trixie’s eye as she speaks and when she finally looks up, Trixie looks like she can smell the bullshit but doesn’t say anything. 

On the walk balk to camp, Trixie says, “Did you really have a headache?”

“I really couldn’t sleep,” Katya says. 

“Hmm,” Trixie says. “What kept you up?”

Katya glances at her, sees her little smirk.

“Rotted skank,” Katya says. “You don’t gotta tease me, that ain’t necessary!”

“As I suspected!” Trixie says. “Don’t worry, I thought about you, too.”

“Don’t make it worse!” Katya says, spinning around in place a few times and then jogging to catch up with Trixie. 

“What are you going to do while the game is on?” Trixie asks.

“Hang out, I guess. Maybe finish my book?” Katya says. “Why?”

“I just want to know where you’ll be, that’s all,” Trixie says. 

Katya is never going to sleep again, that’s what she thinks. 

oooo

Katya has already finished the book her mother sent her when she hears the sound of the back door opening and then a sharp courtesy knock on her door. Now she’s just lying on her bed, listening the sound of girls shrieking through the open window. 

Trixie comes in without waiting for an answer. She’s changed her clothes into a pair of high waisted denim shorts and a retro ringer tee with _Camp Crystal Lake_ on it. 

“How are you so fucking femme but love horror movies?” Katya asks. 

Trixie looks down at her chest and back up. “I have depth.” 

“How is it going out there?” Katya asks.

“It’s whatever, they’re too dumb to be any good at strategy.” Trixie says. “Their hormones are too crazy. Anyway, let’s make out.”

Katya wheezes, laughing so hard that her ribs ache. 

“No?” Trixie asks, pouting a little.

“It’s just… hormones… and then… you...nevermind,” Katya says, wiping her eyes. “I mean obviously I want to make out.” 

Trixie smiles, kicks off her shoes and crawls onto the bed. 

It’s something else, having Trixie pressed up against her. Trixie throws one of her legs over Katya to anchor herself from falling off the edge and kisses her enthusiastically. No hesitation, no coyness. It’s like they’ve been kissing for years. 

Trixie smells amazing, like a mixture of birthday cake and fancy sunscreen, the kind that smells like a tropical vacation. Katya grabs her thigh to hitch up her leg and the skin she encounters is soft and smooth. Trixie groans and shifts her hips against Katya's. 

After several minutes, Katya whispers, “I wanna make you come.” 

Trixie freezes for a moment and then seems to shudder against Katya, breathing heavily into her ear. She doesn’t say anything, but she nods into Katya’s neck. Surprisingly, Katya has now found the thing that makes Trixie a little shy. She keeps her face hidden even when she reaches down to unbutton her own shorts. She won’t meet Katya’s eyes as she lifts her hips and shimmies the shorts down over her beautiful thighs. Her panties are pale blue, the powdery blue of something new and gentle and soft. Were they in the dark apartment above the cabaret where she lived before she was evicted, Katya would spend their time together trying to make Trixie scream. She’d rip off the panties, she’d pound the headboard into the wall.

But they’re somewhere different. Katya, for once, feels safe. Even though they’re in this stolen moment with the world outside the door, she feels calm and collected and fully herself. For awhile, her whole life had felt unsteady and uncomfortable and every moment was a battle of trying to fight that feeling off all the while not realizing that she’d been doing it to herself.

She realizes now, as Trixie curls against her, that the feeling is gone. Maybe not forever, but at least for now.

The gusset of Trixie’s panties are wet enough that Katya can clock it right away. It makes her shiver, it makes her feel braver. She reaches down and drags her knuckles along the hot, damp fabric and Trixie makes a high pitched whine and sinks her teeth into Katya’s neck. It almost hurts, it hurts in the best way. 

While the afternoon feels like it’s going to last forever, pulling and stretching like taffy, Katya reminds herself that Trixie should be working right now, keeping an eye on the girls. So she doesn’t waste time teasing. She pulls the fabric aside and dips her fingers in. 

Trixie swears hotly into her skin and shifts her hips so she sinks down on a finger without Katya having to push in at all. She’s so warm and pulsing and alive and Katya can feel her clench down on the finger.

“ _Milaya_ ,” Katya coos and maybe it’s the Russian or the fact that Katya has broken the silence, but Trixie cries out, grinds down. 

Katya extracts her other arm, slips her hand down the blue panties from the top and rubs at Trixie from both angles. It takes only a few minutes for her to cry out, shaking and tense against Katya. When she settles down again, Katya pulls her hands free and wipes them on her sheets. Trixie looks at her with dark, glassy eyes, flushed cheeks, open lips. 

Outside, the bell starts to ring. Katya smiles, shows all her white teeth.

“Game over,” she whispers.

Trixie laughs.

oooo

Katya is nervous through dinner, biting at her thumbnail until it’s short and red and the skin underneath is exposed and tender. Trixie stays close, but she stays quiet. Katya can feel Trixie’s eyes on her, through the awards ceremony - both teams get a trophy for something, even though yellow team won fair and square - and through dinner, but she doesn’t say anything about anything until campfire.

Katya gets the fire going while girls go to get warmer things on and wash the day of war off. Trixie comes with her guitar and watches Katya arrange the logs and the kindling and light the fire.

“You okay?” she asks, finally.

She’s nervous, that’s all. She’s happy to kiss Trixie, to touch her, to make her feel good, to pound her into the mattress if that’s what Trixie wants, but she’s not sure about things the other way around. She’s not good at intimacy, she’s downright bad at relationships, she’s worried if Trixie gets her off, all these warm, pastel feelings she’s been nurturing will disappear into the cold, mountain air. 

But she wants to want Trixie. She wonders how long she can get away with everything being one sided. Maybe Trixie is the ultimate bottom, maybe she’s a pillow princess and they really are made for one another. It’s not like Katya doesn’t like orgasms or sex, she’s just an addict. She really can’t be trusted with things that feel good. 

Katya nods, prods at the fire with a long stick. 

“Do you… um,” Trixie strums her guitar nervously but the note sounds wrong. “Do you wish that we didn’t?” Her fingers clench around the thin neck of the guitar. “I mean-”

“I know what you mean,” Katya says. “No, I don’t wish that.”

Trixie blows out a breath, nods a little. “Cool.”

“Sorry,” Katya says. “I didn’t meant to make you feel like that.”

“You just went a little dark,” Trixie points out. “Like, full potato bug.”

Katya stares at her, perplexed.

“You know, they curl up into themselves?” Trixie says. “Maybe they don’t have those where you’re from.”

“We can’t all be fancy California girls,” Katya points out.

“Fancy California girls will be the first to point out that I am not one of them,” Trixie says. She must feel a little more reassured because her fingers start plucking at the strings again and it’s a pretty melody again.

“Hey, sing me a song,” Katya says. “Just for me, something you wouldn’t play for all the girls.”

Trixie cocks her head thoughtfully and for a minute, Katya thinks she won’t do it, but then she starts plucking, sliding her fingers up the frets so the guitar strings sing a little as she moves. 

“ _Your heart's as heavy as the stones you throw, can't see the flowers for the weeds you grow, you blow your bubbles just to watch 'em burst, for you it's always bad to worse…_ "

Katya can see why Trixie wouldn’t sing a song about being miserable to a group of adolescent girls, but she sings it beautifully and seriously.

“ _If misery loves company then I can’t keep you company no more..._ ”

The first group of girls arrive just as Trixie is finishing her last chord progression and Katya’s fire is going strong now. 

“Who do you sing about when you sing that song?” Katya asks.

Trixie smiles, wipes her cheek with the back of her hand.

“My mother,” Trixie says softly. 

But Katya doesn’t have more time to ask questions, because Trixie turns to face the girls and calls out for requests while they wait, and by the time the whole group has gathered, Trixie is singing a Spice Girls song and looks just as happy as she always does.

oooo

Latrice has to go buy a part for the ice machine. It’s too hot to not have ice and they can’t make it at a fast enough rate with trays in the freezer. 

“Come down the mountain with me, honey,” Latrice says to Katya. “I hate to go alone.”

Katya agrees to go only because she’s been talking to her therapist about how her fear of coming to camp has done a complete 180 and now she’s terrified of having to leave camp. Going with Latrice is not leaving because she knows she’ll get to come back, because she knows Latrice is warm and funny and won’t let her do something stupid. 

They take Michelle’s truck. Latrice drives at a much less breakneck speed around the curves in the road than Ginger and Katya likes how the truck sits up much higher. She doesn’t feel like if she slouches, her ass will drag against the road. It takes a good forty-five minutes to hit the first town and it’s a full hour before they hit what Katya would consider civilization. Latrice had called ahead about the part so they just have to pick it up and pay for it with the camp’s business credit card. Katya has been tasked with keeping the card in her pocket and she keeps touching her pants to make sure she can still feel it in there. 

When they have the part, Latrice says, “Let’s go get ice cream.” 

So they do. They leave the truck in the parking lot of the repair shop and walk three blocks down the main road until they find the ice cream shop. The inside smells sweet and sugary and she thinks of Trixie’s skin.

“Trixie would love this,” Katya says. 

Latrice nods. “That girl is a walking ice cream cone.” 

“Yeah, I’m into it,” Katya says.

“Oh we know, sugar, the whole camp knows.” Latrice laughs her big booming laugh. 

“What?” Katya says. “Really? How?”

“Well, you are always in each other’s pockets,” Latrice points out. “And like, when y’all stare at each other, little hearts float up and over your heads.”

“That’s not… no we…” Katya sputters indignantly, knowing all the while Latrice is probably being perfectly honest.

“Go pick out a flavor, sugar,” Latrice says. “We’ll eat it in the park and then head on back.”

Katya chooses the pale green pistachio ice cream in a waffle cone. Latrice goes for chocolate cherry and gets in a cup. They walk across the street to the little park which isn’t more than a patch of grass and a smattering of benches, but they get a shady bench and sit together, happily plowing through their treats.

Katya is nearly done with her cone when she says, “Thank you for being so kind to me this summer.” Just saying it makes tears prick her eyes, because she knows, _knows_ she doesn’t deserve all the chances she’s gotten in her life.

“It’s been my pleasure to love up on you,” Latrice says and Katya feels her chin wobble and she ducks her head. “Do you want to know my most favorite thing about Meadowlark?” Latrice doesn’t wait for an answer. “It’s that we never have to go looking for staff. The people we need to have a good summer always find us somehow.” Latrice balls up her napkin and shoves it into her empty paper cup. 

“I just,” Katya says softly, through her tears. “I just always have trouble finding where I belong.” 

“Well I think you might have found it,” Latrice says. “It’s not just Trixie Mattel, you know. You’re the heart of the camp for this summer. There’s always someone who just lights up the whole experience, every year. And this year it’s you. It’s a gift and a privilege and I’m so glad to know you, Katya.” 

Latrice reaches out and pats her thigh. 

It’s not until they’re in the truck on the way back that Katya realizes she forgot to be anxious about being in regular society again.

Still, she’s not naive enough to think she can become what Trixie is, floating from camp to camp until she figures out where she wants to stick. She’s not Trixie, she’s not good at everything or half as brave. But having something to look forward to every summer could carry her a long way. She can’t come back here if she can’t stay sober.

So she’ll stay sober. 

Right? Right.

oooo

She puts herself through a grueling workout in the morning though she can’t say why, exactly. She feels like she just has to push hard for some reason. She gets up so early that it’s not even light out yet. She can see on the horizon where the sun will rise. And by the time Trixie comes out with coffee, she’s been at it for some time. She’s covered in sweat, her limbs are trembling. 

“Okay,” Trixie says after watching her for a few moments. “That’s enough.” 

Her tone leaves no room for rebuttal. So Katya stops.

The sky is still orange and pink when they enter the shower house. Katya leans against the cold wall as Trixie turns on the far shower, the one by the window that Katya prefers. As the water runs from cold to cool to warm to hot, Trixie takes off her clothes. So Katya does the same.

It’s a bad plan, maybe, because they have no soap or shampoo, no robes, no towels, and their cups of coffee and the yoga mat have been abandoned at the concrete slab, but Trixie doesn’t seem to care about any of this, so Katya won’t either. Trixie just flips her hair over and ties it up into a messy bun atop her head and then she steps into the shower cubicle, holding the curtain aside for Katya to join her. 

There’s not any spare room. Katya’s ass is against one side and Trixie’s against the other and the water sprays between them. But the heat of the water is a comfort and it’s enough to rinse the sweat away. Trixie opens her arms and holds Katya close. 

“Every day is hard,” Katya says softly. “I don’t deserve any of this.”

“You have it anyway,” Trixie says.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is so late. if you don't follow my twitter or tumblr, my grandfather died suddenly two weeks ago today. everything is so much harder when you're sad.

" _'Do you know how that must feel, Nan, to be given your heart's desire, like that?'  
I did. It was a wonderful feeling--but a fearful one, too, for you felt all that time that you didn't deserve your own good fortune; that you had received it quite by error, in someone else's place--and that it might be taken from you while your gaze was turned elsewhere. And there was nothing you would not sacrifice, to keep your heart's desire once you had been given it...I should have remember this, later._ "

**Tipping the Velvet - Sarah Waters**

*

In the second to last week of camp, Katya gets a letter that’s clearly from Willam. There’s a return address and everything. The sight of it dropped in front of her by Tatianna, who is distributing mail at this meal, ratchets up her anxiety quickly.

It doesn’t help that Trixie is over sitting with Tulip cabin because Manila had to go down the mountain with one of the girls who’s case of swimmer’s ear had turned in the night and had become an infection that no home remedy would cure. 

Katya allows herself a few panicky moments to stare at the envelope before reassuring herself that it’s small and flat and that there’s practically no way there could be drugs in there.

But she opens it at the table, just in case, so if there _is_ something bad, Trixie is only on the other side of the room.

It’s just a letter. Hardly that, even, a note. 

_Katya,_

_I talked to your brother. Sorry I fucked up. Thought I was helping but instead I was being a dumb bitch. When you get home, we’ll do sober daytime things only._

_Hope you’re having fun,_

_Willam_

When she gets out of camp - goes home or whatever happens next, she’ll call Willam and forgive him. That seems like the right thing to do. 

Ginger comes over, puts her hand on Katya’s shoulder.

“Everything okay?” she asks. 

“Yep,” Katya says. “Everything is actually okay.” 

Ginger leans down, kisses the crown of her head, and goes back to her table.

oooo

She’s been at this camp for seven weeks and it’s the first time no one signs up for her afternoon yoga session. 

She doesn’t take it personally. Bianca is doing tie-dye in the arts & crafts session and that’s where most people go. And when Katya realizes that she doesn’t have anyone to teach, it’s where she ends up too. It’s a huge set up that takes over most of the dirt and gravel road. Bianca has set up several long folding tables and covered them with plastic. She’s got several buckets filled with dye on the ground by the tables as well as squeeze bottles of dye on the table. And several boxes of plastic gloves and bags of rubber bands. 

When Katya finally wanders out of the lodge in her shorts and sports bra with her jelly sandals on, she realizes it’s probably two-thirds of the camp that’s milling around and in the middle of it all, Bianca looking completely frazzled. She looks around for another counselor but most have their own activities to do or take the second session to catch up on sleep. 

She jogs through the groups of girls to get to Bianca. Bianca sees her but just shakes her head and shrugs. And then goes back to swatting away girls from the buckets. 

Katya looks around and finally decides to crawl up on one of the tables. When she’s up there, she cups her hands around her mouth and screams, “EVERYONE SHUT UP AND LOOK AT ME!!!”

It takes a minute but people do quiet down and turn to face her.

“What are you doing?” Bianca’s voice cuts cleanly through the soft murmurs of the crowd. 

“Helping,” Katya says. “Okay ladies! If you were born on an even day, go stand over here. If you were born on an odd, stand over there.” 

It’s not a perfectly balanced divide, but it helps to split them up. 

“Okay, we are going to take turns. There’s too many to all dye at once. So Miss Del Rio is going to explain how everything works and then you are going to take turns and not complain about waiting, you get me, my little lovely nuggets?”

A few girls call out yes, some nod. One or two roll their eyes, but she can’t please everyone. She gets off the table, dropping easily into crossed legs and then sliding off, knocking a few rubber bands to the ground on accident. 

“Thank you, Katya,” Bianca says, sounding only mildly sarcastic. “Just you know… bunch up your fabric, wrap it tight in rubber bands, and then plop some dye on it. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy!” 

Katya groans loudly, causing a few girls to laugh. “Have you actually ever done this before?”

“I watched someone else do it on youtube,” Bianca says. 

“Who has a shirt, gimme a shirt,” Katya says reaching out a blind hand and snapping until she felt someone place something in her hand. She holds it in front of her and it’s a tiny crop top that seems to be made of mostly lace. “This is not a shirt, this is lingerie. Plus this dye will never hold to that lace.” She hands it back. “Who has, like, a regular t-shirt made of fabric?”

Someone across the table tosses her one and it’s just a v-neck white tee from Hanes. She lays it flat on the table. People crowd in so they can see, arm to arm. 

“Okay, spiral!” She pinches the middle of the shirt and twists the fabric until it can’t twist anymore and then secures rubber bands around it like wheel spokes. She tosses it back to the girl who owns it. 

Someone gives her a tank top that is small but still substantial enough to dye and she shows them how to bunch and tie off rubber bands in a row to make stripes and then show them starburst techniche. 

“That is basic tie-dye. You can do it random and not try for a pattern, also looks cool. The more rubber bands you use, the more white you’ll see. If you don’t wrap your rubber bands tightly, your shirt will have zero white. Good luck.” 

“Who gets to dye first?” Bianca asks her as all the girls descend on the rubber bands. “Which group?”

“How would I know, it’s your activity,” Katya says. 

Bianca rolls her eyes. 

Katya spends most of the time circling the tables and offering help and advice. Tighter rubber bands here, less dye there. It feels off-brand for her to tell so many girls to use less color, because she loves colors and variety and too much of things, but too many overlapping colors in the world of tie-dye doesn’t mean life’s a DIY rainbow, it means every shirt comes out the color of baby shit mixed with concrete. 

She and the evens group also get into a long discussion about fabrics and what they’re made of and why those polyester booty shorts are both inappropriate for a twelve-year-old and also won’t retain color.

Bianca has plastic gallon bags for them to put their finished shirts in and sharpies for them to write their names on them. Bianca then has Katya sort the bags in to similar colors so that she can wash them later.

“We don’t get to see them right now?” one girl asks, deeply scandalized.

“Tie-dye is about fun and freedom but it’s also about-” She switches to a Russian accent, “-deprivation and patience.” 

“I’m going to wash them right now and hang them to dry. After dinner you can come find yours.” It’s all Bianca has to offer, the frank reassurance that not being instantly gratified won’t kill anyone. 

The girls disperse to wash up and Katya helps Bianca carry the sorted piles to the shower house. Katya goes to the arts and crafts room to get the index cards and a box of safety pins that Bianca forgot to bring out during set-up. She passes by her empty yoga studio and Trixie’s music room on her way. The door is shut, but Katya can hear music mutedly. Can hear Trixie’s soft croon.

“ _I know all about it so you don’t have to shout it, I’m gonna straighten it out somehow…_ ”

Trixie is alone in there, Katya can tell by the way she’s singing. There’s nothing ‘on’ about it, she’s not performing. And it’s tempting to open the door, invite her along but in a full camp, alone time is a thing to be cherished, especially unplanned alone time. Trixie deserves hers. 

In the shower house, she helps Bianca snip away rubber bands. She declines gloves and the dye stains her fingers but it doesn’t matter. They give each shirt a hard look so they remember who it belongs to and when it comes out of a quick rinse cycle, Katya safety pins an index card to the hem with the girl's name written on it. 

Bianca has set up a makeshift clothesline in between the bunkhouse and where Katya does yoga and so Katya pins the shirts there. By the time the dinner bell rings, all the colored shirts are hung and waving in the breeze. 

Trixie finds her and watches the splendor with Katya for several moments and then reaches for her hand - dye stained nail beds and all. 

oooo

Trixie sneaks into Katya’s room in the dark. It’s late - well, past lights out for both campers and adults. But it’s not so late that Katya feels on the other side of the night. Not so late that it may as well be early. Katya had been mostly asleep. She’s not a heavy sleeper and has an on-again off-again relationship with insomnia, especially in the bunkhouse where there’s no insulation and therefore no secrets. 

So Trixie’s got the door closed behind her before Katya can really register what’s happening. 

“Scoot over,” Trixie whispers.

“Bitch, where?” Katya asks, though she complies, moving her body until she’s on her side with her back against the wall. Somehow Trixie gets herself into the bed, spooned up against Katya, though Katya figures her knees must be hanging over the edge of the mattress. 

Like, it’s not really comfortable at all. 

But it’s good. It turns out Katya sleeps better if she has someone to hold on to. It takes her almost no time fall asleep and she doesn’t wake up until morning. 

When she does wake up, Trixie has turned over and has a leg over Katya’s hip to anchor her onto the little bed. Katya’s head is under Trixie’s chin, pillowed by the top of her ample chest. High, Katya hated sleeping with other people. She was paranoid, worried they’d rob her or hurt her in the night. Anyone she slept with had to leave right after. She didn’t want breakfast, she didn’t want to talk. She certainly didn’t want to do it again sometime.

But here she is, heart to heart with Trixie, well-rested and cozy as hell. 

She can tell Trixie isn’t asleep and when she looks up, Trixie’s eyes are open. 

“Hi,” Katya says. 

“Oh hi,” says Trixie. “You have about three minutes until your yoga alarm goes off.” 

“Trixie, what are we going to do?” Katya blurts, awake enough now for her anxiety to kick in.

“Um, we’re gonna hit snooze, probably,” Trixie says.

“No,” Katya says quietly. “I mean when camp is over.”

Trixie sighs, holds her a little tighter. “We’re just going to keep knowing each other.”

“How?” Katya worries. Her mind is already running through every inevitable scenario. They fight for the whole drive east, Trixie never calls after her two weeks in Cape Cod, they don’t write, they don’t text. Katya calls but Trixie doesn’t answer.

Trixie meets someone better and forgets about her.

“Well,” Trixie says slowly. “I would say that it is a priority in my life to know you and anything that is a priority is something you work at. So I guess the how is mutual effort.” 

Katya can drop everything, really. Once she’s signed off on her community service, all that’s left is a thirty-something ex-addict who has no job and lives at home. 

“Trixie, I’m not a catch,” Katya says, her voice wobbling a little. “I don’t have anything to offer.”

“Frankly, I don’t think you get to decide that for me,” Trixie says. 

Beside them, Katya’s phone buzzes against the wooden dresser and then starts to emit a soft beeping that will get louder if ignored. Trixie untangles herself and half falls off the bed. Katya reaches over and bats at the screen until the noise stops. Having righted herself, Trixie stands with her hands on her hips, looking rumpled and like she hasn’t gotten quite enough sleep. 

“It’ll be okay, even if it isn’t easy,” she says. 

Katya manages somehow to nod through her paralyzing fear. 

“I’ll make some coffee,” she says. “See you out there?”

“Okay,” Katya says. 

The yoga will help calm her down. It’s the only thing that ever has that wasn’t a chemical.

oooo

Michelle announces at campfire that there’s going to be a talent show. Katya is the only one surprised by the news. The girls start talking to one another immediately, excitedly talking about what they’re going to do. Trixie isn’t surprised either, so it must be a camp thing, not a Meadowlark thing. 

“I’ve been working with groups all week in music class,” Trixie says while Michelle tries to regain the crowd’s attention. “Girls who want to sing or play something.”

Katya realizes how selfish she’s been. She blabbers on about yoga all the time, but she hardly knows anything about any of the other classes. She only even knows about Bianca’s tie-dye class by happenstance. What else she helped them make? At some point she must have taught friendship bracelets because Katya has several on each wrist now from different girls. Trixie has even more than Katya. 

“What about you, are you going to perform something?” Katya asks, vowing to herself to spend more time asking Trixie about herself instead of waiting for Trixie to ask her things. 

“People are sick of me singing songs at them, fully,” Trixie says. 

“I’m not,” Katya says. 

This, at least, earns her a smile.

Michelle is talking again about sign-ups and designated rehearsal times and how everyone is participating even if not everyone is performing. 

“A good audience is a kind audience,” Michelle says to them with a note of warning in her voice. “Keep it nice, ladies.” 

In the crowd, one of the older girls cries out loudly above the crowd, “HOW DO WE DO IT?”

“ _WITH KINDNESS IN OUR HEARTS AND MINDS_!” The crowd responds automatically and then they burst into laughter.

Michelle waves them away, but her eyes look a little warm and teary. 

Trixie leads them in a song when the fire starts to die down. Her usual last songs are like lullabies, slow and summer sweet, but when she starts strumming, it’s more upbeat than Katya expects. And before she even starts to sing, a couple girls start whooping with excitement. 

When she starts to sing, her voice is clear and strong through the smoke and firelight, out into the darkness. 

_“Taking down your neighbor won't take you any higher, I burned my own damn finger poking someone else's fire, I've never gotten taller making someone else feel small, if you ain't got nothing nice to say, don't say nothing at all…”_

When they hit the chorus, most of the crowd sings along and by the end of the song, everyone sings loudly, even Katya.

“Mind your own biscuits and life will be gravy!”

oooo

All week, Katya has yoga outside so that her music doesn’t interfere with the talent show rehearsals that happen next door in Trixie’s music room. Before lunch they do their easy hike up the hill and do yoga with a view and what’s left of the breeze.

In the afternoon they forego mats totally and walk down to the lake. Wade ankle deep into the water and work through their poses with the sun on their backs but their wrists and ankles cool. Girls show up in one pieces and bikinis instead of workout clothes and Katya lets them splash around in the water for the last ten minutes. Courtney even starts doing the class with them every day. 

By Thursday, her afternoon yoga class is bigger than Bianca’s tie-dye class ever was. Katya expects it to descend immediately into chaos but it _doesn’t_ which is completely fascinating. The ones who are there to do yoga can do yoga anywhere and hold their concentration. The squirrely ones who have trouble making it through a class have the water lapping at their ankles to help them focus. Katya has to wade in deeper to make enough room for everyone to have adequate space, so she has water up to her thighs and it’s a challenge, keeping her balance as the water moves around her. 

She ends up completely drenched by the end of it, because half the poses take her underwater at least briefly. She’d packed the swimsuit not expecting to use it because she’s not exactly a swimmer or a water lover, but she’s glad to have it now. 

After she tells everyone that they can just play for the last ten minutes, Courtney wades over to her.

“That was awesome,” Courtney says. Katya rings out her hair, pushes her bangs off of her forehead. 

“Thanks,” Katya says. 

“You’re like, really good at this,” Courtney says. 

“Yoga? That’s just practice,” Katya says.

“No, this,” Courtney says, gesturing to the shore and all the girls who are splashing, sitting in the sand, lying out on brightly colored towels to dry off. “Camp, counseling, keeping them occupied without letting them get bored. All of it. You’re so good.” Courtney flashes her huge white smile. “Good at life.” 

Katya wheezes, laughing more out of nervous disbelief than anything else.

“Bitch, you crazy, I am a certified train wreck,” Katya says. 

Courtney tilts her head, studies Katya. “Do they certify train wrecks in America? Is that a thing?”

“No,” Katya says, leaning over to splash her a little. “I don’t think so. Maybe? No.” 

“Anyway, I hope you keep doing this,” Courtney says, gesturing vaguely again. “It suits you.” 

Katya thinks about it long after the bell rings to warn them it's almost time for dinner. She thinks about it in the shower, washing the lake water off of her, thinks about it as she gets dressed for dinner, as she pulls back her hair into two short pigtails and swipes dark mascara onto her blonde eyelashes. 

The walk to dinner feels twice as long and she realizes it’s because she’s worn out from yoga. Her life falling apart had really done a number on her physical body, but she realizes now, this deep into the summer, that she’s gotten herself back into pretty good shape. She feels strong, she feels healthy. Her skin is tan, her stomach flat. She’s lost that ghastly, emaciated look that had so concerned her mother.

“Trixie,” Katya says, when she finds her in the mess hall. “Will you take a picture of me with your camera again? The one that spits them out right away?”

“Well,” Trixie says. “Have you accomplished something great?”

“Yes,” Katya says. “Health! And sobriety! I want to send a picture to my mom so she sees that I’m doing better.”

Something changes in Trixie’s face. It goes soft and sweet.

“Yeah,” Trixie says. “For sure. We can do it.” 

And in fact, they take several, at Trixie’s insistence. They take one after dinner where Katya poses in the golden hour light with her arms up, showing the camera her muscles. She turns her head so that she’s in profile - her mom always says her profile is lovely. She and Trixie watch it develop together.

In the morning, Trixie takes another one of Katya, doing a handstand during her yoga routine. She takes a third one where Katya poses with some of the campers. They’re waiting to be let into breakfast and Trixie says, “Who wants to be in a picture with Katya?” 

Trixie picks three of the girls who rush over. Katya puts her arms round them and everyone grins. Katya is a head taller than two of Kasha’s girls and the one from Alaska’s cabin still has braces and it’s all very cute. All the messy hair, denim cutoffs, rows and rows of handmade bracelets. 

After breakfast, Katya takes the three pictures and goes to the station in the lodge that Michelle had set up for mailing letters home. It’s so close to the end of camp now that it’s not quite as popular as the beginning of the sessions, but there’s still stationery, envelopes, gel pens. Even half a roll of stamps. 

She takes a stamp and an envelop and then wanders down the hall to the arts and crafts room. Bianca is in there, grabbing supplies for her morning session.

“Hello my little matryoshka doll,” Bianca says. 

“Do you think I’m the big doll and there are smaller versions of me inside of here or do you think I’m the small doll and there are bigger Katya’s running around out there?” Katya asks. 

“Definitely there are more giant versions of you,” Bianca says, laughing. “What can I do for you?”

“I just need a sharpie,” she says. Bianca points to a tub full of them, and she chooses the bright green one because green is her mom’s favorite color. She writes on the bottom of the one of her making her strong pose, _Love, Katya_ and then tosses the marker back into the bin. 

Fishes out a black one and scrawls her mother’s address on the front. She doesn’t bother with a return address because she doesn’t know it, and she doesn’t care if there are photos of her floating around out there, unclaimed. 

“Do you have a family?” Katya asks as she stuffs her pictures in the envelope.

“No, I was created in a lab,” Bianca says. 

Katya licks the flap, with big eyes.

“Yes, I have a family,” Bianca says. 

“Do they love you?” Katya asks.

“Yes, they love me,” Bianca says, the acidity draining from her voice.

“Mine loves me, too,” Katya says. “And mama, I am _hard_ to love.”

“What’s your point?” Bianca asks. 

“I dunno,” Katya says. “There are so many good kids out there with such shitty families. Why do they get crap while I can screw up over and over again and mine never stops loving me?” 

“Jesus,” Bianca says. “I don’t know, ask your therapist! Christ!”

“Oh, I will!” Katya says. “Though I think I want a new one. Like, a woman one.”

Bianca gapes at her for a moment and then walks over to the door. 

“Trixie!” she yells. “Come get your weirdo!” 

She can hear Trixie scream laugh from down the hall. 

“Normal is overrated anyway,” she says, sticking the stamp on with a flourish. “Where do I put this?”

“The outgoing mailbox is right by the letter station,” Bianca says. She sighs. “Sorry I called you weird.”

Katya shrugs. “For the record, I think you’re the big doll filled with tinier, more sarcastic dolls.” 

Bianca laughs. “Fair enough,” she says.

oooo

Katya dreams about her mother and the sleep she gets is restless. In her dream, her mother is still young. Strawberry blonde hair, the big framed glasses she wore through the late 80s and early 90s still perched on her face. Her mother had been a gymnast, too. More serious about it than Katya had ever been, though Katya had always had more natural talent. 

Katya had wanted to go out and party with friends far, far more than she ever wanted to do gymnastics competitively. When she was seven or eight, there’d been talk of the olympics but by the time she hit puberty, no one had found that to be a realistic goal any longer. She just didn’t have the discipline.

Katya wakes up crying, a disappointment, no matter what her family says. 

She gets up early, before the sun, still weepy and out of sorts and smokes a cigarette on the back steps of the bunkhouse. Then, because she’s awake now anyway, she does a load of laundry because all her clothes to do yoga in are sweaty and disgusting. She forgoes her early morning yoga all together, instead opting to lie on top of the washer and dryer until her clothes are clean.

When she comes in with her armful of clean sports bras and yoga pants and tiny cotton shorts and strapy tank tops, Trixie’s door is already open and her coffee pot is chugging. Trixie herself is sitting up on the bed, braiding her own hair. 

“There you are,” she says. Trixie’s pink braids are on the sloppy side, but Katya drops her clean clothes on her bed and when she comes back in, Trixie is pinning the two braids up onto her head like a milkmaid. She tugs some hair out by her ears and all of a sudden the sloppy looks intentional - messy and cute. “Coffee?”

Katya hops up onto the dresser next to the coffee maker as it gives one last tired sigh and quiets. 

“No yoga?” Trixie asks when Katya doesn’t answer.

“I just feel… tired, I guess,” Katya says. “Can I just sit in here with you? We don’t have to talk.”

“Sure,” Trixie says. She’s still in her pink nightgown, but she has clothes on the bed and she scoops them up and steps into the little bathroom to change. She shuts the door mostly, leaving only a small gap. Katya can only see her shadow moving. When Trixie comes out, she’s in a pair of navy blue shorts and button down shirt that she can’t button over her chest. It’s made of soft looking flannel and is pink and blue plaids. She has it over a soft pink tank top. Katya is struck once again over how pretty she is and how comfortable she seems in her own body. 

Katya has the physique that society might consider more perfect - fit and slim and tanned but Katya often feels like clawing out of her own skin. Trixie is larger, Trixie is pale, Trixie is curvy but Katya loves it, would give anything to feel how Trixie looks. 

Comfortable and happy and sure of herself. 

Trixie gets out her makeup bag and her mirror and sits on the bed, the little square mirror leaning against the wall. It puts her back to Katya, but Katya can see her reflection.

Katya busies herself with pouring the coffee into the two mugs. She pushes the Barbie mug to the edge of the dresser where Trixie can reach it and then sips at her own.

Trixie applies moisturizer, foundation, concealer. Powder, bronzer, blush. Eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara. 

Katya likes her either way. With or without the cosmetics. But she can’t deny that the picture Trixie paints on herself is striking. Katya has mostly given up on makeup at this point in the summer, not because she doesn’t want to wear it, but with all the yoga she just sweats it off. 

“Do you think I’m prettier with makeup?” Katya asks.

“I thought we weren’t talking,” Trixie replies, digging through her bag for lipstick. 

“Do you think I’m pretty at all?” Katya presses.

“Yes, I think you’re pretty, no I don’t think you’re more or less pretty with makeup,” Trixie says, pulling out a black lipstick tube. When she takes the cap off, it’s pink. She covers her lips and then smacks in the mirror.

“I think you’re pretty,” Katya says.

“I know,” Trixie assures her. 

Katya likes that answer. Like that Trixie doesn’t thank her for the compliment, that she’s confident enough not to need it or fish for it. 

“I don’t want camp to end,” Katya says. 

Trixie turns and looks at her now. “Is that why you’re in such a funk this morning?”

Katya wraps her hands around her mug and shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Camp is ending,” Trixie says. “Not you and me. Not our friendship. Not our something more.”

Katya gives her a little smile. “I like that. You’re my something more.” 

Trixie comes over, leans in, gives her a small kiss. 

Katya can taste her lipstick all morning long.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, thanks for sticking with me. life is weird, man.

_“I’m taking you out, to meet my friends. I’m taking you,’ she put a hand to my cheek, ‘to my club.'"_

**Tipping the Velvet - Sarah Waters**

*

The last week of camp hits everyone hard. 

“It always does,” Ginger says, when Katya mentions it, points out the girls who erupt into fits of weeping with no notice. Katya feels a little prone to tears herself, though she tries mostly to cry in the shower and alone in her bed. It seems the adult thing to do. 

Katya had been really worried that the summer would drag but instead she feels as if she’s totally barreled through it. Camp has been a lifesaver, literally. Not only did it remove her from temptation, from the opportunity for temptation for the most part, but she’s been somewhere that she’s been made to feel extraordinarily cared for and loved. 

What a gift it all has been.

At least everyone still has the talent show to focus on and their weekly schedule doesn’t change. Yoga in the morning, yoga in the afternoon. Her hair has gotten a little bit longer, even blonder from the sun. It’s long enough now to braid so it stays out of her eyes. She does her morning class in her yoga room, but has permanently moved the afternoon one to the lake shore. She only wishes she’d done so earlier. 

Michelle asks her to participate in the talent show - there’s a staff skit which is apparently tradition, but maybe she could do some gymnastics, too? 

“I think Michelle just wants me to feel included,” Katya confides to Ginger.

“Yes, she does. She’s illustrating that by _including you_ ,” Ginger says. Ginger may feel her level of sarcasm is necessary, but Katya is still new to feeling included, to being loved while sober. Or at least being aware of it, anyway. 

Katya can bop around for five minutes. Do the splits, a few flips, a back handspring. The flashy stuff. 

Trixie is really busy for most of the week, so Katya only sees her early in the morning, right before bed, and at meals. Katya catalogs every glimpse. Today she’s in her pink cowboy boots and her hair is in a high ponytail. She looks happy; she looks tired. They’re all getting rundown now. It’s grueling, being on call for these girls. All the drama, all the emotions.

On Tuesday, the two Bellas have a big blow out fight and demand that they be able to change cabins. Michelle says absolutely not and Ginger looks like she’s either gonna murder them or harm herself so Katya volunteers to sleep in the cabin for the night.

“Are you sure?” Ginger asks. She’s hiding in the kitchen just before dinner. Latrice has made her a cup of hot chocolate with little marshmallows. 

“I ain’t afraid of no Bellas,” Katya says. “I’ll just be scary Russian Katya.”

At dinner, the Bellas sit on opposite sides of the room and glower at one another. Trixie sits at the same table as Katya, but across and one over. 

“How you doing, hon?” Alyssa asks her. 

“I’m ready for this talent show to be behind us,” Trixie admits. “Some of these girls are so talented. Others… not so much.” 

“I hear ya,” Alyssa says. 

“Weren’t the Bellas supposed to do a singing number?” Shea asks from the other end of the table.

“Why do you think they’re fighting?” Trixie said. “Both have to be the star of any number. I wish these kids could, like, have some perspective every once in a while. Life is more than a camp talent show.”

“And that’s coming from queen summer camp herself!” Alyssa says loudly. 

“Rich kids,” Shea murmurs. “They don’t know anything about life until it whacks ‘em upside the head.” 

“Well, who do you think is going to do really well?” Katya asks, hoping to steer the group to a more positive conversation. She doesn’t like to see Trixie frustrated - she wants Trixie always to be as happy as Trixie makes her feel. 

“Oh, fully Margot from Manila’s cabin,” Trixie says. “That girl is the best singer I have ever met in real life and the bitch is _fifteen_.” 

“I’ve heard her,” Shea says. “She is really good.”

“Perfect pitch and she play like five different instruments,” Trixie says.

“You play more than one instrument,” Katya points out.

“No, I play the same instrument in varying sizes,” Trixie says and it makes everyone laugh. Katya frowns. “Like can you believe I’ve been here playing my dumb strummy cover songs all summer, making a fool of myself while there’s a prodigy in the audience probably rolling her eyes?”

“Hey,” Katya says softly. But it still makes everyone turn and listen. “You’re not a joke, Trixie, you’re extremely talented.” 

Trixie rolls her eyes. “It’s fine, you don’t have to-”

“I’m not,” Katya says, cutting her off. “You have a beautiful voice, you can play the crap out of a guitar, and there are plenty of people who would kill to have what you have. And there’s always going to be people who are better at something or prettier or happier or whatever, but that doesn’t diminish what you have.” 

Everyone stares at Katya for a moment and then swivels back to look at Trixie.

She presses her lips together and nods. “I hear you.” 

“Now that is the pep talk of a woman who has a lot of therapy,” says Tatianna who has been quiet up until now. 

Katya grins. “Damn straight. Expensive therapy. _Mandatory_ therapy.”

“Ooooh, court ordered?” Shea asks. 

“You know it,” Katya says. She throws a wink at Trixie who smiles a little.

“Trixie,” Alyssa says gently. “I hope you’re going to perform something in the talent show.”

“Oh, I don’t know about all that,” Trixie says.

“Surely you have something up your sleeve. Something we haven’t seen before?” Tatianna asks. 

“Trixie is full of surprises,” Katya says. “Of that, you can be sure.”

oooo

Instead of Katya’s early morning yoga, she uses the time to practice rusty gymnastics moves. The scraggly grass is not the kindest for tumbling, but she’s not going to do more than a couple minutes to a loud Russian song and things that don’t impress gymnastic judges will still impress a group of girls. 

She hopes.

The screen door banging at the back of the bunkhouse gets her attention and she sees Trixie heading toward her with coffee.

“I think it might rain,” Trixie says. “Where’s your mat?”

“I have to practice for the show,” Katya says. “I’ve been tumbling mostly.”

“Is that why your back is covered in dead grass?” she asks.

“Fuck, I hope it does rain! Tumbling indoors is fine, tumbling at the fire pit is gonna end with me with my hair on fire,” Katya says.

“We don’t fit well in the lodge,” Trixie says. “We’d have to clear the mess hall probably.”

“We should do that anyway,” Katya says. “Electricity, lights, etc…” 

“I don’t know, there’s something quaint about doing everything by firelight,” Trixie says. “But I’ll see what Michelle thinks.” 

She holds out Katya’s mug and she takes it. Trixie wraps her fingers around her own mug. Somewhere between campfire last night and now, she’d painted her fingernails a pearly pink. Katya has one nail polish and it’s black and the moment it dries is the moment she starts to chip it off with her teeth. 

“You weren’t in your room last night,” Trixie says softly. 

“Oh!” Katya says. “No, I slept in the cabin for Ginger.”

“Huh,” Trixie says. “Where did Ginger sleep? She wasn’t in your bed.”

“I don’t know, that’s an interesting question I think you should find an answer to.” Katya slurps her coffee, feels compelled to explain. “She was sick of the Bellas.” 

“Oh my god, who isn’t?” Trixie says. “You know how people can sing proficiently, but like, not well? That’s Bella one. It’s very aggressively musical theater and technical but not at all pleasant to listen to.”

“And Bella two?” Katya asks. 

“She’s just so pretty it doesn’t matter,” Trixie says, rubbing her face. “When I was a kid I would have killed to have this kind of experience but we didn’t have any money. But like, as nice as this camp is and as much as I love these girls, it just doesn’t feel like an authentic experience somehow.”

Katya tilts her head. “I dunno,” she says. “I’m sure it feels authentic to them.”

“Maybe it’s just me,” Trixie says, waving it off. “I need a week to sleep and a bottle of wine.” She winces. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” Katya says. “People who can enjoy responsibly should.”

“Anyway,” Trixie says. 

“Come on,” Katya says. “Let’s go inside. We have twenty minutes before we have to leave for breakfast.”

“What about your gymnastics?” Trixie says. 

“I’ll be fine,” Katya says. “You, however, need a massage.” 

Trixie isn’t wearing any makeup so Katya can see the blush blossom in her cheeks.

“Oh,” Trixie says. “Okay.” 

Katya smirks, pleased that Trixie isn’t fighting it. Trixie goes straight into her own room when they get back inside and Katya follows, kicking the door closed with her foot. The room still smells like the coffee maker, is warm and slightly humid. Trixie’s bed isn’t cleanly made, but she’d pulled the blanket up. 

Katya feels nervous, she knows because she starts intensely craving a cigarette but she powers through, says, “Shirt off, Miss Mattel,” and her voice only shakes a tiny bit. 

Trixie doesn’t comply right away. Instead she disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a tube of lotion. She hands it over to Katya without a word and then crawls onto the bed. Whips off her shirt and lies down so fast that Katya blinks and misses it. 

Trixie’s bra is white with pink stitching. It’s good to know her love of pink goes all the way down to the skin. 

Katya gets on the bed, sits astride Trixie and pops the lid of the lotion with one hand and undoes the hook and eye of Trixie’s bra with the other.

Trixie, to her credit, doesn’t make a sound.

Her back is as pale as the rest of her, though sprinkled liberally with light freckles, concentrated mostly across her shoulders. She’s fair - not like Katya, who would tan if she ever went outside and has browned up nicely over the last several weeks, but just covered head to toe with porcelain skin. Katya’s seen her slather on sunscreen like it’s going out of style. 

There’s a part of Katya that wants to spend the next twenty minutes with her hands down Trixie’s pants but more than that, she wants Trixie to feel better. More relaxed. Cared for in a meaningful way. 

So all she does is massage. She’s pretty good at it - knowing a lot about the body’s muscular structure is useful for yoga and so she already knows which area need the most work and how to get the most bang for her buck in the short amount of time they have. 

Katya starts out light, but when Trixie doesn’t complain, she increases the pressure until she knows that it has to hurt. She asks if it’s okay and Trixie just mutters that it’s a good pain. 

There’s one real whopper of a knot that Katya has to put several minutes into and it’s that knot that makes Trixie start to cry.

Not from the pain, Katya understands, but from the release. The tension. Whatever Trixie has been holding back - her dreams or fears, her secrets about her mother and her family, her anxiety about whatever - she’s been holding it in this knot and now Katya has loosened her up enough that the tears can’t be held back any longer.

“I can’t go home,” Trixie sobs into her arms. “I can’t go home anymore.”

She sits up, throws herself into Katya’s waiting arms. 

“Okay,” Katya says, petting her hair, her bare back. “Oh honey, it’s okay.”

The breakfast bell sounds in the distance. 

oooo

“It’s fine, everyone gets one meltdown day,” Michelle reassures Katya after breakfast. Katya has jogged over to the mess hall to get them some breakfast and quickly explains that Trixie has arrived at the end of her rope. “Hell, someone like Trixie gets two.” 

“She never talks about herself,” Katya says while Shangela packs up some food for them. “How do I get her to talk about herself?”

Michelle reaches out and touches Katya’s elbow. “You can’t force it, honey,” she says. “Just make sure you’re around to listen.”

“I want to always be around her,” Katya says. “Even after camp. I’d do anything for Trixie.” 

Michelle smiles. “I can see that. Tell you what, we’ll take your yoga sign up sheet down for the day and add in some extra swim time and anyone who was scheduled to see Trixie today can see me instead.” 

“Really?” Katya says. 

“What,” Michelle says. “You don’t think I can sing? I can sing.” 

“Sure,” Katya says.

“Latrice, can’t I sing?” Michelle calls through the pass-through window.

“Yes, honey,” Latrice calls. 

Katya knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth, so she takes her tupperware of breakfast and hurries herself back to the bunkhouse.

Trixie is still crying, but has moved to the point of crying from embarrassment rather than distress. Also, she’s put her shirt back on. 

“I’m such a dumbass,” Trixie says, her eyes swollen and her nose runny. She’s got a handful of damp toilet paper and drags the wad across her nose. 

“God, I know,” Katya says, setting the breakfast between them. “Better pack it on up and go home.”

“Oh, wow,” Trixie says. 

“Michelle says everyone gets one meltdown day,” Katya says. “This is yours.” 

“You told Michelle?” Trixie says. 

“She gave us the day off,” Katya says. “You can be as weepy as you want!”

“I just… feel like - wait, are those pancakes?” Trixie asks, peering at the tupperware between them. She pries off the red lid. “I’m so hungry.”

It’s frustrating but Katya pulls two plastic forks out of her pockets and blows lint off them. Hands one to Trixie. 

They devour the food and Katya knows it was the right decision because Trixie immediately seems more herself. 

“Margot asked if I would sing her song with her,” Trixie says out of nowhere when the food is gone.

“Yeah?” Katya asks.

“To do the harmonies,” Trixie says.

“What did you say?” Katya asks, getting off the bed long enough to go into the bathroom and fetch the bottle of pearly pink nail polish she’d seen sitting on the sink.

“I said sure,” Trixie says. “I told all the girls I’d help however they needed. Instruments or whatever.” 

“But you aren’t secretly jealous of _all_ the girls,” Katya says.

“Not a secret anymore,” Trixie mumbles.

Katya pulls one of Trixie’s feet into her lap. Hits the glass bottle of nail polish against her palm a few times and then cracks it open. 

“Okay,” Katya says. “Here’s a question. What do you do when the summer is over? What do you do when you’re not at camp?”

“I-”

“Besides think about camp,” Katya adds.

“Ha _ha_ , asshole,” Trixie says, watching Katya paint the nail of her big toe. “It depends. For a couple years I had a job at a retreat center. I did maintenance and helped the year round groups who rented it. You know, corporate retreats, church groups, high school bands, that sort of thing. But it was really… isolating? And the pay was shit.” 

“Uh huh,” Katya says. “What else.”

“Wait tables,” Trixie says. “I worked at REI for four months, once. I had a few studio musician gigs. That wasn’t bad. The pay was good, the hours were weird.” 

“Do you have friends?” Katya asks.

“Yes,” Trixie says hotly. 

“Because it seems like you just bop around like a nomad, waiting for summer.”

“Well what the fuck do you do?” Trixie asks. 

“I got high,” Katya says. “Or drunk. I partied. I was a cocktail waitress. I was miserable and alone.”

“Miserable and alone,” Trixie echos softly.

“You know what I’d like, I think?” Katya says. “To move out of the city. To live somewhere more… rural. I think maybe life would be better if it were more quiet and more… real. I think that’s why I’ve liked it so much here. It’s so different. You forget what the world looks like when all you have is concrete and cars and the dirty inside of a cabaret.” 

She pats Trixie’s foot and Trixie pulls it away, offers her other in its place. 

“Every year another summer passes and I’m not any closer to having my own camp,” Trixie says. “And every time I find a camp I think I could be happy at, it never works out because ultimately, I want the camp to be mine.” 

“So what do you need?” Katya says.

“Money,” Trixie says.

“And land,” Katya points out. 

Trixie laughs hallowly. “I… never mind.”

“No, what?” Katya says. 

Trixie rolls her eyes, turning red again. “I have the land.” 

“You _what_?” Katya says. 

“I’ve never… told anyone this before,” Trixie says. 

“You can tell me anything, Trix,” Katya says. 

“Part of the reason… I’m not close to my family is… this land I inherited. From my uncle. He wasn’t close to the family, really, either, because he was gay and he was really young when my grandfather died and left him the land. My mom thought he wouldn’t have gotten it at all if my grandfather would have known about him being gay.”

“That’s fucked up.” 

“My mom is… whatever. A bad person, I guess. So, my uncle got sick and none of the family really cared. I was, uh… like nineteen, so I went back to Wisconsin to help him since I don’t do jack shit during the rest of the year anyway. We got really close. I told him I was gay too, I nursed him until… he passed away.”

“Wow,” Katya says. Trixie’s toes have been forgotten. 

“He passed the land onto me exclusively. It’s like, um, 800 acres?” Trixie says.

“Jesus.”

“Not all of it is usable land of course,” Trixie says. “I had to sell off some it to pay for the upkeep - taxes and stuff. It was over 1000.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “My mom told me I should sell it all and split the money between the family because the rest of my family is really poor. My grandpa’s generation all used to have to have a lot land but people made bad deals… it doesn’t matter. I told her I didn’t want to sell it, and they all basically disowned me.” 

“It sounds perfect for a campground!” Katya says. “Your uncle had to know that!”

“I’d have to sell off more to finance the construction and I don’t want to do that and it’s like, super close to all the people who hate me most in the world,” Trixie says. “But even if I sell it all at top dollar, it’s Wisconsin top dollar, I’d never get the same amount of land anywhere else.” 

Katya resumes painting the last two of Trixie’s toes and then blows gently across them. 

“We’ll have to think about it, won’t we,” Katya says. “Now that you and I are a team.”

“Are we?” Trixie asks.

“I want to be,” Katya says. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Trixie nods. Crawls across the bed to kiss Katya.

Smears her still tacky nail polish but neither of them care.

oooo

The talent show happens on Friday, all the girls will be picked up by Saturday afternoon so it’s kind of the last hurrah. They spend all day Friday transforming the mess hall. After breakfast, the tables are collapsed and put away and the chairs set up in rows. A keyboard on a stand is brought in because there’s no way they’d get the piano in here. Trixie still laments the loss of the warm, forgiving firelight, so Katya spends the morning scouring the grounds for every string of fairy lights she can find. Even the spooky orange ones from Sharon’s cabin, even the string out of Trixie’s room. Michelle gives her and extension cord and a staple gun, and Katya surrounds the stage area with lights. It gives them as much warm glow as they’re gonna get. 

Dela and Adore have been given the official set list, so they roll out a long piece of white butcher paper and write it out. It’s fifteen acts - with Trixie as emcee. There’s a lot of singing, a few skits, one juggler, Katya’s gymnastic routine, Alyssa’s little troupe of dancers. Tatianna offered to do a spoken word poem, but when Michelle heard her practicing, it was mysteriously cut from the lineup. 

The girls all get bag lunch and have to eat in the lodge. Dinner is pizza that gets carried to the lodge as well and it’s all very informal. It’s also earlier than normal, so everyone has time to get ready. 

There’s a lot of interesting makeup looks as a bunch of teenagers try to get stage ready. 

And then the bell rings and it’s time for the show. 

Trixie loves the lights.

Sharon has the honor of setting up a dinky tripod and filming the show, an honor she earned by having the best camera not on a phone. 

Trixie and Margot open the show, singing a cover of Simon and Garfunkel’s America. It’s haunting and beautiful and Margot’s voice really is something to behold, though Trixie holds her own, plucking away at her guitar. 

And when they sing “ _I’m emptying and aching and I don’t know why_ ” is when Katya tears up. Just a little.

It’s a hard act to follow, but Alyssa’s troupe of dancers is good enough and then there’s a funny skit about airplane and then another song by three girls from Kasha’s cabin. They’re young so everyone is very forgiving of how visibly nervous they are. 

Then it’s Katya’s turn. The thumping electronic Russian music is calming to her and she falls into an easy routine, something she would consider a warm up but is impressive enough for applause and hollering. She bows when it’s over, sweaty from the stuffy room more than the exertion. 

And then, an hour later, the last act has finished and Trixie steps up with her guitar to dismiss everyone.

“I… I wasn’t going to do this,” Trixie says. “But my dear friend Dela encouraged me to so…”

Katya glances at Dela with just a prickle of jealousy. 

“You’ve heard me sing many a cover song these last several weeks because that’s what I find comfortable, but Dela encouraged me to do something original for you tonight so… guess I’m gonna do it. Consider this your campfire lullabye.” 

Katya sits up, surprised. She didn’t know Trixie wrote her own songs. She scoots her chair a little closer. 

A few girls whoop and applaud to encourage her.

“I wrote this song about someone really special to me. This is called _Soldier_.”

oooo

And just like that, the last day of camp is upon them. Girls cry, embracing. Michelle passes out a roster so people can keep in touch with letters or email. They eat breakfast and have one last gather at the campfire pit to close out the summer and sing some songs and then they’re all sent to the cabins to finish packing.

It’s not long before the first parents start to arrive. 

Michelle gathers everyone together before the first girls leave to take a camp picture. One of the mothers is a professional photographer and offers to snap it. 

“I always forget!” Michelle mutters. “Thank god Trixie was here to remind me.”

Trixie carries around her pink instant camera all morning too, posing with girls. Katya snaps a picture of Trixie and Margot before Margot goes down the mountain with her two moms. 

Trixie gazes at the picture fondly and says, “I fucking hate when I learn stuff from _them_.” 

Katya flails with laughter. 

It’s exhausting, saying goodbye to so many girls. Katya has a particular fondness for the scholarship girls, so she makes sure to hug them all very tightly and gives them slips of paper with her email address. “I’m never going to have my life together enough to write letters,” she confides in them. “But even I can check an email.”

“Please come back next year,” several girls tell her. She doesn’t make any promises. A year is forever away to someone freshly sober. 

“I want to!” is all she says. 

Ginger finds her as the afternoon starts to wane into evening. “Not that you’ve said as much, you selfish bitch, but I understand that you’re going to ride back with Trixie?”

“I guess so,” Katya says, slinging her arm around Ginger. “I think I might be in love?”

“Disgusting,” Ginger says and leans over to spit in the dirt. “Hateful and gross.”

“Don’t be a homophobe,” Katya sing-songs. She knows Ginger isn’t, she knows Ginger is lovingly jealous of Katya’s good fortune. “But Ginger. I… thank you. Thank you for everything. I honestly think this summer saved my life and I owe it all to you.”

“Ugh don’t,” Ginger says, swiping at her eyes. “Just don’t flush your second chance down the toilet, okay?”

Katya nods. “Okay.”

They’re all allowed to spend one more night - some people have early morning flights, some people have long drives that will take most of the night and Michelle wants everyone to be well rested for their travels. It’s only a three hour drive to her parent’s house, so she asks Trixie what she wants to do. 

“Let’s stay,” Trixie says. “One more night.” 

“One more night,” Katya agrees, relieved. 

Everyone in the bunkhouse sleeps with their doors open and a few more counselors pile into the spare rooms. Others, like Ginger, are more than ready for a night to themselves in an empty cabin. Trixie’s room is mostly packed up (Katya’s is… less so), so she gives up her bed to Adore and climbs into the bed with Katya.

“I knew it, you skanks!” Adore says. 

Katya just smiles.

It’s too hot to sleep alone, hotter still with Trixie pressed against her but Katya can only appreciate this last night they have in their camp bubble, overheated and exhausted as she is. In the morning, they’ll drive east. She’ll have to explain to her family who Trixie is. She’ll have to survive two weeks without Trixie while she’s at another camp and then, when Trixie is free of her summer obligations, they’ll have to plan a whole life together. Will Katya go to Los Angeles?

Will Trixie decide to develop her land in Wisconsin, to live out her dream? And if she does, is there a place for Katya there? What’s Katya’s dream? Sobriety is a goal, but it’s not much in the way of dream. Trixie can’t be her whole life, after all. One person can’t be your whole life. 

But that’s for tomorrow. 

Tonight she’s still a Meadowlark girl and it’s all she wants to be.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! thanks for letting me play in your sandbox and sticking with this story. xoxo.

_"I thought, how queer it is! —and yet, how very ordinary: I am in love with you."_

**Tipping the Velvet - Sarah Waters**

*

It turns out home isn’t a place, after all. 

When she and Trixie arrive at her parent’s suburban home, both her parents have left for work and so Katya gets to spend a good chunk of the day making love to Trixie in her childhood bedroom. Her full size bed feels luxuriously big for the first time in her life after eight weeks in a particularly narrow twin. 

Trixie’s naked body is a gift. She’s all pale and freckled skin and outrageous curves. Katya runs her tongue along the red line Trixie’s bra has left in her skin. Over her shoulders, along the underside of her breasts before taking a nipple into her mouth. 

Katya likes the sound of Trixie talking, has fallen in love with her singing voice, but the noises she’s making now have shot very quickly to the top of Katya’s list of favorite sounds.

Katya makes Trixie come once with her fingers and once more with her mouth, leaves her breathless and panting with her fingers clenching at Katya’s sheets. 

Katya gets up, puts on her robe.

“Hey wait, wait, wait,” Trixie says. “We aren’t done.”

“You’re insatiable,” Katya says. “But I’m just going to get us some water.”

“Not me!” Trixie says, propping herself up on her elbows. Her whole chest is red and splotchy from the blood rushing just beneath her skin and the love bites Katya has left as her calling card. “I want… I want to touch you, Katya. Is that okay?”

Katya tightens her robe around her and Trixie’s face falls a little. 

“I just… of course it’s okay,” Katya says. “I just am better at giving than receiving. Historically.”

Trixie nods. “Okay,” she says. “But we’re partners, right?”

“Yes,” Katya says. 

Trixie falls back, her head on the pillow once more. “Good.”

When Katya returns with glasses of ice water for both of them, Trixie says, “If I let you be on top, can I eat you out?”

Katya chokes on her water, has to cough it out for a few seconds. Manages a nod through watery eyes. 

She can’t deny that sitting on Trixie’s face had been a fantasy that carried her through the summer. The fact that it was a premonition and not a fantasy is enough to get her off even if Trixie doesn’t know what she’s doing.

But she does.

Katya comes hard against Trixie’s mouth with a scream that echoes throughout the house; it's loud enough to make her parent’s dog, Myata, bark from downstairs. 

And when it’s over, Katya doesn’t want to run away. In fact, she wants to burrow closer and stay forever. 

How strange and exciting. She relays this to Trixie - both her original fear and her newfound discovery and for her trouble, Trixie makes her come again. 

oooo

When Trixie leaves for camp, however, the feeling of home goes with her. 

It’s the real test, after all. Regular life. There’s no sense in getting a job if she’s going to go back west with Trixie, but hanging around her empty house is depressing. The first couple days are fine. She unpacks her luggage, does all her laundry, takes an absurdly long bath. It’s like a full day to triage her phone and email. She’s forgotten what it’s like to really have a phone. She didn’t get it in rehab, went straight from rehab, to camp, practically. 

She thought it would be hard, giving up technology, but after awhile she’d stopped thinking about it all together. So she does things like block the numbers of anyone who has ever sold her or given her drugs and deletes the numbers, too. Responds to friends that she can trust that she’s back on the grid but not up for visitors. 

Looks at her Facebook for half an hour and then decides that life is better without it and deletes the whole thing. 

It turns out there’s no important emails. Not one. It’s all ads for shopping, emails from people she doesn’t want to see anymore, spam and junk. She goes through and looks at them all and then deletes them. 

She feels clean for the first time in a long time. Not just sober, but clean. 

The second night Trixie is gone, her dad drives her after dinner to an AA meeting. He waits in the parking lot the whole time she’s in there and then drives her home. She cries for practically the whole ride back to the house, though she doesn’t know why, exactly. Because she’s happy? Because she’s scared? Because she’s grateful her family hadn’t abandoned her long ago, though it’d be what she deserves. 

Her mom had hung the pictures she sent from camp on their refrigerator. 

“Katya,” she’d said when Katya had pointed them out. “My good girl.”

After Trixie leaves, on Katya’s third day home, her sister and her children arrive late into the morning. Katya is the only one home. She’s already done her early morning yoga and made herself some breakfast. She’s already showered and has braided her hair back, out of her eyes. She doesn’t have a car - it was a piece of crap even when she had a job to afford it, but her parents had sold it off to help pay for the rehab and she certainly doesn’t begrudge them that. Everything is too far away to walk, so she’s a little bit stuck, but knows that’s good, actually, so while she’s bored, she’s still happy enough to watch television or find a book in her father’s study to read. 

Olesya and her kids arrive like a sneak attack. Olesya has made no secret of how she feels about Katya, about the mess she’s made of her life. So it’s not a social call, not exactly. Olesya is probably hoping to catch her mid screw up so she can feel justified in her hatred. 

“Mama sent me,” Olesya says once the kids are settled in front of the television. Katya is making coffee for them.

“No she didn’t,” Katya says. She says it easily enough. She’s not looking to start a fight but she’s also not here to be steamrolled. 

“Well,” Olesya says. “You look all right, anyway.”

“I look great, actually,” Katya says as the coffee maker chugs. “Look at me, I’m in the best shape of my life.” 

“For now,” Olesya mutters. Katya ignores it. There’s uneasy silence until the coffee is done. Once they’re served, they move to the dining room where her sister can keep an eye on the children while they chat.

“So you brought home a girlfriend?” Olesya says. 

“Technically she brought me home,” Katya says, sipping her coffee.

“And what’s your plan this time? Does she have a job? Does she have any money? A place to live?”

“She’s a perfectly functional grown woman, yeah,” Katya says. 

“What is her family like?”

“Shitty, I think,” Katya says. 

“And you’re going to what, exactly, just live happily ever after?” Olesya demands. 

“I don’t know,” Katya says. “I think I’m going to run off to California with her and find out.” 

“And when you fall off the wagon again, Katya, then what?” her sister demands, her face twisting into an ugly expression. 

“I’ll be too far away to be your problem, I guess,” Katya says.

Olesya doesn’t stay for much longer, after that.

And anyway, Katya doesn’t blame her for being mad. Katya would like forgiveness, but she doesn’t expect it. 

oooo

It’s easy to pack up her whole life, funnily enough, because rehab teaches you that the things you thought you needed aren’t really that important after all. So she chooses some clothes, some books including the copy of _Tipping the Velvet_ , ties up her jewelry in a little handkerchief and it all fits in the back of Trixie’s car.

“Long way to California,” her dad says.

“We’ll be safe, Mr. Zamolodchikova,” Trixie promises. She says the name perfectly, doesn’t stumble once. 

“I know you will,” he says. “But Katya, you will let me keep paying for your phone, just until you get onto your feet, yes? And you will go to your meetings all the time?”

“ _Da_ , papa,” Katya promises. “All the time.”

Artem comes to see her off, Olesya does not. She hugs her parents and her brother. Her mom hugs Trixie, too. Trixie seems surprised at first and then melts into the hug.

In the car, when they’re pulling out of the neighborhood, Trixie says, “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a hug from a mom like that. You know, a mom hug.” 

“I know,” Katya says. 

Katya has never been to California. Katya has never been to most of the states they drive through. They both feel tense the farther from the coast they get. They take the northern route, both silently agreeing that driving through any southern states is a no go. Ohio is just okay, Indiana feels a little worse. In Iowa and Nebraska, they don’t touch in public at all. 

But the southwest feels a little better and Katya likes Los Angeles well enough. It’s surreal the first few days. Trixie’s apartment is _tiny_ , so tiny it doesn’t even have a bedroom. It’s just a studio with a small kitchenette and a bathroom. 

“My storage unit is roughly the same size,” Trixie says. 

“I like it,” Katya says, and she does. She doesn’t need fancy. She’s lived in everything from a nice four bedroom home to a crappy apartment above a dive bar, so this is perfectly fine. They’ll be cramped, but it’ll still be better than spending long nights alone, counting down hours until sunrise. 

Trixie had used to rent a room in a larger house, she explained, and it had been cheaper but more complicated with roommates and chores and subletting and people constantly in and out and finally she’d moved into this studio so she could pay her rent online with a recurring payment and never have to worry about what was going on when she wasn’t there. 

Katya gets a job at a movie theater because it’s one of the few walkable places from the apartment that isn’t a bar. 

Her interview is with the manager, a twenty-two year old man named Bennett with a patchy mustache and cystic acne is the most hilarious thing she’s ever sat through straight faced. 

Bennett looks over her resume with some interest and then says, haltingly, “You’re… thirty...three?”

“I am,” Katya says.

“Why do you want to work here?” he asks.

“Well, Bennett, I’m so glad you asked. I want to work here because I need money. Also I can walk here which is important because I don’t have a car. Thirdly, I want to walk here because I am recently sober and you don’t sell booze here.”

“Oh,” Bennett says. 

“But the upside is I’m old, comparatively, so I can be a warm maternal figure to your young staff here and give them advice like, make good choices! Also, I won’t show up hungover because I’m sober so that’s like, part of that deal.” She smiles at him hopefully. “Oh also, I learned how to do math in the olden days, so if the register goes down, I know how to make change.” She leans in. “With my _brain_.”

Bennett hires her. 

She has to wear an ugly polo shirt, but she and Trixie get to see movies for free so it’s a solid trade off. Also she never has to get up very early which suits her well enough. She’d adjusted to the camp schedule, but she’s a night owl by nature. 

Trixie never seems to have a plan but is always busy. Katya finds it curious. Trixie had told her as much, that she generally juggled a handful of odd jobs while she waited for summer to roll around again, but it’s strange seeing it up close. She fills in for a friend playing guitar in a band for a few gigs. Nothing exciting - they play mostly upscale corporate events, but she makes good money for little effort.

She has another friend who owns a catering business, so she works a couple times a month there. Serving food or drinks or even working with the food. 

It seems like Trixie is good at everything. It seems like everything she touches is gold, to Katya. Trixie, of course, doesn’t see it that way at all. She mostly feels like a failure, that she has no purpose. No sense of where her life is going.

But she does. Katya knows she does. Camp is her heart and Katya is just sure that it’s where Trixie is meant to be. 

They’re just not sure how to get there.

oooo

By the very beginning of the holiday season, Katya is the assistant manager at the movie theater. She refers to Bennett affectionately and ironically as her work husband and she’s been sober for nearly nine months. He pretends not to like it, but blushes furiously whenever she does. 

She’s not sure it’s gotten easier, sobriety, but it’s gotten more familiar. It’s like something jagged against her skin that is wearing down smooth with time. And anyway, any time she feels like getting fucked up, she can just look at Trixie and maybe the desire remains but the urgency always fades away.

She still goes to meetings, just like she promised her dad. Especially because she knows that it isn’t healthy for Trixie to be her only tool for staying sober. That’s too much pressure for anyone. It takes fifteen minutes on the bus and a five minute walk to get to the community center that hosts the AA meetings but she goes once a week and the routine is comforting. 

Her mom calls and asks her and Trixie to come home for Christmas. Not that Katya comes home and she can bring Trixie if she wants, but both of them, a team, a pair. It warms her heart, but she knows she can’t afford it. Maybe if Trixie pitched in the lion’s share but she’s not made of money either and everything she has she’s gotten for herself. 

Land is worth money, but it’s not the kind of money that helps them afford the day to day.

“We’ll buy the tickets,” her mom promises. “That can be our bigger gift to you.”

“I’ll ask,” Katya promises. “But I’ll have to see what Trixie wants and if I can get the time off work.”

“Do you think Trixie will want to go see her family instead?” her mother asks fretfully. 

“No,” Katya says with certainty. “Definitely not.”

But what does Trixie usually do for Christmas? Even though they’re into the fall, Katya hasn’t really been thinking about that particular holiday because, well, it isn’t cold. Not in Los Angeles. And even when she does see people in jackets, they’re light and only early in the morning or at night. 

Trixie has been working at her friend’s music shop giving guitar lessons since September - she seems to like it better than catering though she has to work more to make the same amount of money and when she comes home her hands are always tired and her fingertips are sore.

“They say they practice, but they don’t practice,” Trixie says when she comes home that night. She’s wearing a denim skirt with her pink boots and a t-shirt from Dollywood. Most of the pink has faded out of her hair and she hasn’t bothered to maintain it. It’s like the real Trixie is summer Trixie and this is just the Trixie she has to be for the rest of the year. But the pale, pale blonde is fetching on her, too. 

Katya can’t commiserate on Trixie’s students - it’s exactly the kind of lie she would tell. But she still doesn’t lie to Trixie.

“What do you do for Christmas?”

To Trixie, the question comes from nowhere. Maybe Katya could have done more than just blurt it out first thing. It makes Trixie still unnaturally and then there is something strange about the way she sets her bag down, the awkward way she leans over to take off her boots.

“Nothing,” Trixie finally says. “I stay home or work, sometimes, if that’s the kind of job I have. Why?”

“My family offered to fly us out to Boston,” Katya says. “Is that something you’d be interested in?”

“Me? Is it what you want?” Trixie asks. 

“Well, I asked you first,” Katya says.

“Kat, I don’t have a family to miss so it’s fine that I haven’t seen them. But your family is important to you and you’re important to me, so if you want to see them, we should see them.” Trixie flops down on the bed next to Katya. In such a small room, their bed is their couch, too. They talk all the time about trying to find a bigger place but they get along okay, even on top of one another all the time. 

“I guess I would like to,” Katya says. “If my husband Bennett lets me have the time off.” 

“Your husband Bennett would follow you to the moon,” Trixie says. “If you asked if you could kick him in the teeth, he’d say yes.”

“Young Bennett,” Katya says. “Sweet, young, dumb Bennett.” 

Later, after Trixie has fallen asleep and Katya is out on the street smoking a cigarette, she texts her mom a tentative yes.

oooo

Thanksgiving isn’t really a Russian thing so Katya didn’t grow up celebrating it. Trixie’s family never had money for a big feast, so they’re perfectly happy for the day to pass like any other. 

But a couple weeks before, Trixie gets a phone call and it’s Michelle. 

Katya is doing the dishes during the phone call so she only gets bits and pieces of the small talk, Trixie making a surprised noise, her leaning over the counter and writing something on the back of a receipt. 

“Yeah, yeah, you too. Thanks. See you soon,” Trixie says and hangs up. 

“How is she?” Katya asks, turning off the water. They don’t have a dishwasher, but she’s mastered stacking things precariously in the dish rack. 

“Good,” Trixie says. “She invited us to her house for Thanksgiving.” 

“Really?” Katya says. 

“Yeah,” Trixie says.

“I mean, we can’t go all the way back to camp for…”

“No,” Trixie says. “She’s not there year round. She lives in Thousand Oaks. Which is bougie but close.” 

“Huh,” Katya says. “Free meal, I guess.”

“I guess so,” Trixie says, chewing on the back of her pen. “Do you think she invited other camp girls?”

“Well, no one else is local,” Katya points out. “Maybe she knows you and I are far from home. Maybe she’s just being nice.” 

“Maybe she wants us to comeback to _Meadowlark_ next year?” Trixie says. 

“I don’t need to be wooed to do that, do you?”

Trixie grins. “No.” 

It’s a short notice invitation, only a couple days away. 

The movie theater is open on Thanksgiving Day but she and Bennett work out a bunch of staggered short shifts that give them coverage while still giving everyone a chance to have dinner with their family, either an early meal or a later one. Michelle’s Thanksgiving is at dinner time, so Katya works for a few hours and then hurries home to shower and change her clothes. She’d cut her own hair a while ago in a fit of trying to distract herself from feeling like drinking and now it’s choppy and short enough that if she tries to pull it back, pieces stick out at uneven lengths. 

Trixie had offered to clean it up for her but she likes it. Not everything has to be perfect, after all. 

Trixie is ready when Katya gets home, in tight jeans and her pink boots and a pink oversized sweater that hangs off one shoulder. She’d curled her hair and done her makeup and looks so, so beautiful. Katya is tired and smells like popcorn.

“Just need twenty minutes,” she says, already pulling off her clothes on the way to the bathroom. The bathroom is still warm and steamy from Trixie’s shower and her curling iron and blow dryer. There’s never a ton of hot water and it takes forever for the tank to refill so she hurries through the process, washing her hair and face and giving her body a quick scrub down. There’s no time to shave and anyway, she gets really lazy about that when it’s not shorts weather all the time because her hair is so fine and blonde anyway. Besides, Trixie doesn’t mind a little stubble now and then. She likes the drag of it across her soft skin. Or so she says. 

Her hair will just have to dry in the car. She takes her grungy little makeup bag and does her makeup in the car while Trixie drives, only bothering because Trixie is so made up. She looks extra nice, a little formal and Katya has to struggle to keep up. 

She’s wearing her most demure outfit, a black wrap dress with black tights and her red penny loafers. She wears Trixie’s nice gray pea coat. It’s too big and slides around on her shoulders, but if she lets it hang open, it’s not as noticeable and she likes it because it’s Trixie’s and it smells like her. 

“Who else is coming?” Katya asks.

“I don’t know,” Trixie says tersley. The traffic is crappy - it’s always crappy in LA, but now it’s holiday crappy. 

“Is she married? Kids?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” Trixie says harshly.

Katya sinks back in her seat. Trixie glances at her, her face softens.

“She has daughters, I think,” Trixie says. “It was difficult to get her to open up about herself at camp.”

Isn’t that some irony, Katya thinks, but keeps it to herself. 

Michelle’s house is big and beautiful, a well lit beacon in a pristinely manicured neighborhood. She is married to a man named David who says he’s a producer, though he doesn’t say of what. She has two teen daughters, too. 

“Why didn’t they go to _Meadowlark_?” Katya asks when Michelle explains that she’d sent them to the store and that they should be home soon.

“They went to Camp _Goldfinch_ ,” Michelle says. 

“That’s the Ru camp on the west coast,” Trixie says. “There’s _Meadowlark_ and there’s one in the south right?”

“Camp _Highlander_ in Georgia,” Michelle says. 

“Like the dudes who slice off heads?” Katya asks, perking up.

“Like the bird,” Trixie says. “They’re all birds.” 

“Hmm, disappointing,” Katya says.

“Actually,” Michelle says. “Did you know that all three camps maxed out in attendance this summer?”

“I’m not surprised,” Trixie says. “Sleepaway camps like Ru camps are kind of becoming a dying breed. You can find a number of week long camps or 8-week camps that are religious but summer long secular camps… at least reputable ones, well, Ru is the only name in the game.”

“Have you ever met Ru?” Michelle asks.

“No,” Trixie says. “But I know about her.”

“She knows about you, too,” Michelle says. “She couldn’t make dinner but promised to stop by for pie later. I hope you can stay long enough to meet her.” 

“Uh,” Trixie says. She glances at Katya who nods enthusiastically. “Sure?”

“Absolutely,” Katya says. 

The girls come home and in the excitement, Katya drags Trixie into the living room to look at the books on the bookshelves. 

“You could pitch Ru,” Katya says.

“Huh?”

“You heard Michelle, Ru’s camps are maxed out. She has an east coast camp, a west coast camp, and a southern camp. You want to start a camp in the north and you have the land. You could offer to be partners.”

“Katya,” Trixie says. “That is the most ridiculous thing you have ever said.”

“What? Why?” Katya says. “I’m serious.” 

“So am I,” Trixie says. “You don’t just blindside people with business propositions on holidays. It’s rude. And I’m like, a nobody.” 

“Michelle just said Ru knows who you are,” Katya says.

“She was being nice,” Trixie retorts. 

At dinner, everyone has wine but Katya. Trixie says no at first, but Katya tells her it’s fine. Wine was never her drink anyway. She wants it, she wants twelve bottles but it’s easier to resist than if someone was passing around vodka or pills or meth. 

Still Trixie only has half a glass and then sticks to water. 

The food is pretty good, the turkey a little dry but then poultry always is to Katya. She covers everything on her plate with gravy and then stirs it into one big mushy pile, including her cranberry sauce so everything turns a little bit pink. She shovels a bite of it into her mouth and when she looks up, everyone is staring at her. 

Trixie just shakes her head a little. 

“Mmm,” she says around her mouthful of food. At least Michelle is looking at her fondly. 

Trixie is good at keeping the conversation going. She asks the girls about school and college plans, whether they have jobs, what are their hobbies. David leaves twice to take a phone call and that seems to be standard because no one reacts. 

Michelle asks Katya about what she’s been doing and Katya says she works at a movie theater. 

Like, she’s proud of her sobriety and holding down a job and being a partner to Trixie, but saying out loud that she works at a movie theater makes her feel kind of small, all of a sudden.

“She’s a manager,” Trixie throws in, which makes it worse somehow. Like she’s embarrassed too and is trying to slap a band-aid on the situation. 

“I’m an assistant manager,” she says, leaning into it. “I make two and a half dollars above minimum wage and my boss is ten years younger than I am. I always smell like popcorn.” She gives everyone a dangerous smile. 

After that, Katya zones out a little. Sometimes it’s easier to just retreat into herself and wait until a situation is over. 

It’s not until the girls are clearing the table that Michelle says, “Katya, why aren’t you teaching yoga?”

Katya thinks about that. “I guess I felt like everyone in Los Angeles could be a yoga teacher. And I’d probably have to get recertified anyway.”

“You were just so good. We got back evaluations and the girls raved about you.” Michelle gives her a soft smile. “You were a gift.”

She was a burden wrapped in a pretty box that had happened to work out. She could have just as easily have been a bomb. A box of spiders. A hurricane. 

“I’m glad it worked out for you and Ru.” 

She excuses herself to wash her hands. 

When she gets out of the bathroom, she’s aching for a cigarette. She’s held onto her cutting back. She usually only smokes three or four a day instead of the two packs she’d been on before rehab. She always wants to smoke more when she’s stressed out or bored.

There’s a family room off the hallway that is empty and from that she spies a slider to the backyard. She creeps through and out. 

The backyard has a huge patio with outdoor furniture, a long expanse of grass that disappears into darkness, and a pool that is lit up clear and blue. 

Katya sits cross-legged at the edge of the pool and lights her cigarette. It’s too cold to put her feet in, even in California. Her disassociation starts to dissipate as she inhales the smoke. It hits her bloodstream, chills her out. 

Trixie should do whatever she wants to do. It’s her life, her land. Whatever she decides, Katya will be there to support here. 

The slider opens behind her and Michelle walks out. 

“Sorry,” Katya says, and she is, a little. Michelle just sits down next to her, groaning as she goes. 

“I should do more yoga,” she jokes. Katya just shrugs. “You got one of those for me?”

“You smoke?” Katya asks, reaching into her pocket to pull out the pack. 

“Not officially,” Michelle says. She pulls one from the pack and lets Katya light it for her. “Ru is here.”

“What’s that all about?”

It’s Michelle’s turn to shrug. “She wants to lock Trixie down, I think.”

“Hey, why don’t you run the LA camp?” Katya asks.

“I like _Meadowlark_ best,” Michelle says. “And it’s healthy to get out of LA for awhile, anyway.” 

Katya hums. Her cigarette is nearly gone.

“Trixie doesn’t want to work for someone, she wants her own camp,” Katya says.

“I told that to Ru,” Michelle promises. “She knows.”

“And we’re a package deal, now,” Katya says. 

“I think everyone is well aware of that,” Michelle says with a chuckle. “We all very much enjoyed watching the two of you fall in love.” She takes a long drag on the cigarette and then stubs it out half smoked on the concrete. Katya stubs hers out too. 

“If they start a new camp, though,” Katya says. “I won’t ever get to go back to _Meadowlark_.”

“New things don’t happen overnight,” Michelle says. “Never say never.”

oooo

It takes a few months to hammer out the details, but finally they sign the deal. Camp _Goldeneye_ will be constructed on Trixie’s land in Wisconsin. Trixie and Ru are partners, Trixie will direct the camp and have complete control over staffing and curriculum. Trixie wants a more arts based camp for kids who no longer get it in school. Trixie negotiated that twenty-five percent of campers be allowed in on scholarship. 

Trixie even negotiated that boys were allowed.

It’s a good deal, according to Trixie’s lawyer. After five years, they have the option to buy out Ru’s share of the camp or sell, if they want. But Katya can’t imagine that ever happening. 

And it’ll take a year, maybe more, for construction to be complete. Which means they can have one more year at Camp _Meadowlark_ , if they desire. 

When they go back to Boston, they get to tell Katya’s parents about their plans.

“You’re moving to Wisconsin?” her mother asks.

Katya nods. Her mother starts to laugh.

Trixie and Katya exchange concerned glances.

But it turns out her family had bought them gifts for warm weather. Shorts and dresses, a set of beach towels, a small vacuum for the back of the car to keep sand out. So much for plane tickets being their gift.

“We can return it all,” says her father chuckling. “Get you things for snow, instead.” 

“You’ll be closer,” her mother says. “More remote will be good for you, Yekaterina. Less temptation.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Katya says. Trixie reaches over, squeezes her hand. Her family has only ever seen her fail to stay sober, after all. Only Trixie gets to see her continually succeed.

In fact, she and Trixie are on their way back across the county when Katya hits her one year anniversary of being sober. They’ve packed all their things into Trixie’s car, sold what they wouldn’t need - put most of Trixie's storage unit into a U-Haul trailor. They’re driving through Utah when Katya realizes what day it is. 

Trixie pulls the car over in the middle of the desert, they both get out and scream as loud as they can. Joyous yells that echo. They jump up and down, hug and kiss. 

“I’m so happy I found you,” Trixie says. 

“Believe me when I say, same.” Katya grins as they get back in the car. Trixie pulls back onto the highway. 

There’s still some unanswered questions - will Katya be able to stand living in the middle of nowhere Wisconsin? How will Trixie deal with living so close to her contentious family? Will the camp work? Ru is pouring a lot of money into something that will only succeed if kids actually come. 

But it feels like the right move, and that counts for something. 

And being with Trixie feels like she’s always safe in the bubble of camp. 

When the sun sets, they switch and Katya drives for awhile while Trixie dozes next to her. In fact, Trixie is asleep when they cross the border into Colorado. They like to honk when they hit a new state, but this time Katya lets it pass. She lets Trixie sleep.

She just drives, thinks about everything that she’s leaving behind her, thinks about everything she’s gained by getting sober.

When she looks into the rearview mirror she sees only darkness, and when she looks forward, she can see a sky full of stars.


End file.
